


And if I stumble

by CallicoKitten



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, america has a hero complex, complete buchery of history, idek, russia has issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sunflowers on the wall are cracking and faded and it’s getting harder and harder for Ivan to pretend they’re real. But still, he lies spread-eagled on the floor, head and heart and mind fogged by vodka and memories and loneliness, <em>so lonely</em>, he stretches his hand out towards them.</p><p>Things in Russia go from bad to worse and Ivan's barely holding himself together not that he'll let anyone see that . But after missing a meeting he can no longer hide it and of course, it would be America who finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first hetalia fic (it's awful) no idea where it's going or if i'll write more but meh, i'll write a better one soon, promise.

The sunflowers on the wall are cracking and faded and it’s getting harder and harder for Ivan to pretend they’re real. But still, he lies spread-eagled on the floor, head and heart and mind fogged by vodka and memories and loneliness, _so lonely_ , he stretches his hand out towards them.

There’s a voice in his head that laughs at him; another that’s crying, begging for warmth.

It’s cold in his house, so cold, always cold. 

There are other voices too, whispers, memories but he’s drowned them out with too much vodka (they’re still there though, he can feel them tugging at him, crying for food and warmth and shelter and help and _help_ ) He groans, presses the heel of his hand to his eyes- he just wants them to stop, just for a bit, just for a little bit- curls in to himself (he just can’t get _warm_ )

(If he closes his eyes he can imagine the house is still full, maybe Lithuania will come to find him, drag him in to bed, flinch if Ivan raises a hand _he doesn’t mean to hurt them, he doesn’t_ )

They won’t, he knows they won’t, but he can dream, he can wish, he can _beg_.

The General is pacing outside, rattling the windows, howling through the rafters and Ivan clamps his hands over his ears with a whine, “Go away, go away, _go away_.”

He owes the General, as much as he fears him, he owes the General so much.

(There’s a riot in Moscow, leaves fifty dead, the blood oozes through his coat, drips down his side like red paint on a moonlight canvas, he feels them all as they die)

He can feel their terror in his mind, he can hear their fury ( _how could you let this happen?_ ) it’s all going wrong, again. He tries, _oh gods_ , he tries, he’s tried so _hard_ this time and it’s still all gone wrong. 

“It’s not my fault,” he mumbles, “Not my fault...”

(The crops have failed, the General’s been particularly cruel this year, they’re starving, freezing, _democracy was supposed to change things_ )

“Sorry, _sorry_ ,” he moans.

There’s something he’s supposed to be doing today but he can’t remember what, can’t think straight anyway. 

(He’s weak, so weak, he’s supposed to be strong, supposed to be formidable- he’s not anymore, barely able to breathe on his bedroom floor, shaking and bleeding and _crying_ )

Ivan wonders if he’s dying.

If someone invaded now, if someone decided to start a war he’d fall, he’d fall so far and so fast and _god, not again_. 

There’s a knock at the door and Ivan curls further in to himself, “Go away, please.” He wonders blearily who it could be but then there’s a booming voice.

“Hey! Russia, dude! You’re like, two hours late for the meeting big guy!”

 _Amerika._

“Russia! I know you’re in there!” he calls, pounding on the door again.

Ivan sighs, shakes his head, tries to think clearly. If he doesn’t answer America will probably break the door down and find him _like this_ and god knows what would happen then. He stands up, swaying slightly and stumbles down to the front door.

(Slips his smile in place like if he pretends long enough maybe it’ll come true-maybe he’ll be happy)

When he finally opens the door America looks an inch away from breaking it down. “ _Finally,_ ” he says, “Thought you’d left me out here to freeze!”

“Amerika,” Ivan greets (smiles, smiles) “What is it, comrade?”

America narrows his eyes, “You’re like two hours late, dude. Germany almost had a frigging aneurism and we’ve been waiting around all day for you.”

“Ah, apologies, my friend. I lost track of time.” (Drums his fingers on his pipe)

“It’s okay, big guy, you’ve got a lot going on right now.” America is watching him closely and Ivan remembers too late that he hasn’t changed his coat-that it’s still bloodied from the riots.

“We shall go to the hotel now then, da? Or perhaps we will reschedule?” 

“Well, everybody’s still waiting so now is good, I guess. There’s a cab waiting,” America says smiling brightly and Ivan nods (he can clean up when he gets to the Kremlin...) “Let’s go then!”

Ivan follows (drags his feet, one foot in front of the other) and it starts to snow. He can feel the General’s grip on his nation- on his heart. Somehow he doesn’t think he’ll make it to the meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred groaned as another hour slipped by. "Can we just leave? Because this is _so boring,_ dudes."

They had been waiting in the Kremlin for _hours_ and Russia still hadn't turned up. Not that Alfred was surprised, this was probably some Communist plot to bore them all to death and take over the world...or something. Across the table Arthur sighed, "As much as I hate to say it, he's right. Maybe we should think about doing something."

Germany nodded from his seat at the head of the table, "Ja, I agree. It is not like Russia to be so late, especially in his own city."

"Ve, maybe Mr Russia overslept?" Italy suggested helpfully.

"Perhaps someone should go over and check on him, non?"

"What a splendid idea," Arthur said with a sly grin. "And you know what? I think America should be the one to do it!"

"What? Why _me?_ " It wasn't like Alfred was scared of Russia or anything it was just that...Well the guy gave him the creeps and who knows what that Commie did in his spare time.

"Well you _are_ the hero, aren't you?" Arthur continued, smug grin still in place. "Surely you aren't _scared_ of little old Russia?"

" _No,_ I am not scared. I just..." _heroes shouldn't save villains._

"Angleterre is right, mon ami," France said with a smirk. "You are always boasting that you are the hero, after all."

There was a tug at Alfred's sleeve, "Don't listen to them Al, they're just trying to wind you up. You don't have to go if you don't want," a soft voice whispered.

Alfred blinked, "Uh...who..."

" _Canada!"_

"Oh, sorry, Mattie!"

"If America truly does not wish to go then I will volunteer to fetch Russia," Japan said but Alfred stood up.

"No, it's fine, I'll go guys. After all a hero should always take charge!"

* * *

"This country is too friggin' cold!" Alfred muttered, tugging his jacket closer around himself. Whose idea had it been to hold the conference in Russia in the middle of _winter_ anyway? Alfred's Russian was terrible so it took him almost five minutes to get the cabbie to understand him and it turned out that Russia's house was a half hour drive away. _Better have a damn good reason for making me do this,_ Alfred thought as they pulled up outside Russia's house.

Toris had told him once that Russia's house was huge and beautiful but what Alfred found was far from the pictures Toris' had painted in his mind. The mansion was huge, yes, but from where Alfred stood it looked little more than a ruin. The garden was overgrown, there were cracked windows and one part of the roof looked like it was about to cave in. Alfred shuddered as he made his way up the cracked stone path; he knew that Russia wasn't doing so well these days but he hadn't expected _this._

He hesitated in front of the ancient mahogany door a few seconds, wondering if it wouldn't be better to leave and go back to the hotel, before knocking quietly at first. When he got no answer he rapt more insistently and called, "Hey, Russia, dude! You're like two hours late to the meeting big guy!"

It took Russia far too long to open the door and by the time he did, creepy childish smile in place, Alfred was shivering. " _Finally_ , I thought you'd left me out here to freeze!"

"Amerika," Russia said with a grin. "What is it, comrade?"

Alfred tried not to flinch at that word and eyed the larger nation. He was pale, paler then usual and his hair was messier and his eyes were slightly red. It almost looked like he'd been crying but Alfred dismissed that thought almost as quickly as it came (this was _Russia_ that dude _didn't_ cry). But still, Alfred knew there was something wrong and narrowed his eyes, "You're like two hours late, dude. Germany almost had a frigging aneurism and we've been waiting around all day for you."

"Ah, apologies my friend, I lost track of time," Russia lied cheerily. Despite what many of the nations thought Alfred wasn't stupid. If this had been anyone other than Russia (well and a few others) he'd probably be shoving them back inside and insisting they tell him what was wrong.

"It's okay big guy, you've got a lot going on right now." Alfred said carefully. He'd heard about the riots, the crop failures. Russia shifted and winced and Alfred's eyes widened a fraction, there was a dark stain on the side of Russia's long coat. A dark _red_ stain.

"We shall go to the Kremlin now then, da? Or perhaps we shall reschedule?"

 _You're bleeding,_ Alfred wanted to say but Russia still had that creepy smile on his face (still had that pipe in his hand.) If Russia wanted to pretend he was okay then Alfred was more than happy to oblige (he wasn't that great at this whole _comfort_ thing anyway, that was more Mattie. _Damn_ why had he agreed to do this again?)

"Well everybody's still waiting so now is good I guess!" Alfred said, with the brightest smile he could muster. "Let's go!"

Russia followed him slowly, stopping for a moment as it began to snow and looking up at the dark gray sky with something akin to despair. (But this was _Russia_. Big, fuck-you-I'm-creepy, _Russia._ )

"Come on," Alfred urged, smiling again. "I think the cabbies pissed enough at me as it is!"

Russia smiled and got in to the cab beside America. In the close quarters of the cab Alfred decided that Russia was _definitely_ not okay. The dark stain, little by little, seemed to be getting larger and the Russian looked exhausted. _I should say something, anything,_ Alfred thought. _God._ He should have just let Japan come. Or asked Mattie, he seemed to get along with Russia pretty well. Or China, they were Commie buddies, right?

He looked over to see Russia leant up against the window, head cocked upwards to watch the snow spiralling down towards them. He seemed to be steadfastly ignoring whatever injury was causing the stain on his coat and Alfred was fairly sure bringing it up would earn him a one way ticket to pipe-in-head-ville (a place he hadn't heard good things about) So maybe bringing Russia to the meeting was the best idea right then because if Russia _was_ going to collapse then at least he wouldn't be alone in a creepy mansion. That was better, right?

When they reached the Kremlin Russia leant forwards to pay the cabbie ("It is nothing, comrade.") and as he raised his arm to hand over the money Alfred decided this had gone on long enough. The blood stain was huge now, shiny and red.

Alfred waited for the cab to pull away before saying, "You're hurt, aren't you."

Russia turned to him; smile faltering and Alfred saw a flicker of something in Russia's indigo eyes. "Whatever gave you that idea, Amerika? If I was hurt I would have told somebody." He said with an easy smile.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Alfred's features. "Then why is there blood on your coat?"

"There isn't." The Russian said happily.

That kind of stumped Alfred.

"I better go and check in with my boss before the meeting, I am sure he is worrying. See you in a few minutes, Amerika." And with that Russia turned and hurried off towards the Kremlin.

America stared after him for a few moments before growling, "Commie _bastard,"_ And following him in. He stomped up to the meeting room and found Arthur lounging against the wall outside of it.

"America," he greeted. "Did you find him then?"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered darkly as he stormed passed. "He'll be up soon."

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Alfred did his best to smile reassuringly, "Nah, he was just being a stubborn bastard, you know?"

They settled back in quickly and when Russia appeared (new coat, all smiles and apologies) the meeting began (which consisted mostly of Germany firing questions at each of them and nattering on about how they could improve global relations) and Russia got paler and paler.

Alfred glanced around mid-meeting to see if anyone else had noticed the way the Russian was slumped slightly in his chair, the way he was trembling slightly, the way every time he moved his left arm he flinched slightly. No one else seemed to, for some reason Russia had seated himself between Italy (who was doodling) and France who was making eyes at the female attendant stationed at the door.

Alfred wished one of them would glance to the side; no he _needed_ one of them too, because if he said anything Russia would deny it and say Alfred was still angry about the Cold War or something, and the others would probably believe it. He sighed in frustration, why couldn't Russia just _admit_ he wasn't feeling well? He drummed his pencil on the table top for a few moments before an idea struck him.

He would _make_ Italy look.

Glancing around to make sure no one was looking his way he flicked his pencil across the table so that it landed between the Russian and the Italian. "Whoops!" he cried, "Shit, sorry guys! Italy, think you could pass that back to me?" America said, ignoring the looks of disdain England and Germany sent his way.

"Of course I can!" Italy said brightly, ducking under the table to retrieve the pencil. When he sat back up Alfred could barely conceal his glee, Italy was staring at Russia, concern evident in his dark eyes. "Ve, Mr Russia! You are bleeding."

Russia shot an annoyed look at the smaller nation. "Nyet, I am fine." He grumbled.

Italy flinched, "Si-Si, b-but..."

Arthur stood up, "Russia if you're hurt-" he began but Russia cut him off.

" _Nyet,"_ he said firmly. "I am _fine._ "

Arthur raised his hands in surrender and Italy had ducked his head but France it seemed had other ideas. He had crept around Russia to his wounded side, "Oh mon dieu _,_ Russia! Do not lie, you are far from fine!"

Alfred barely concealed a smirk as he stood up, "Looks like you're out numbered, pal." He said softly, "Why don't you just show us where you're hurt?"

Russia stood up abruptly, eyes narrowed, face like thunder. "I told you, I am _fine!_ " he roared but as he did so he swayed, dangerously and France moved to catch him. "I am fine..." he mumbled, catching himself on the table.

"I think you need to sit down, mon ami." France said quietly.

"Nyet," Russia began, "Nyet, I am- I am fine..." he swayed again, this time stumbling backwards and Alfred found himself vaulting across the table to catch the large nations before he hit the floor.

"Dio mio! _Dio mio_!" Italy cried.

China, France and Arthur moved closer, "Is he okay, aru?" asked China, eyes wide with worry.

Alfred shook his head, "He's bleeding, like Italy said, look." He lifted Russia's arm gently to reveal the dark stain spreading across his side.

"We should move him to the hotel," Germany said firmly. "It will be easier to examine his wound plus there will be first aid kits and we will not worry his government."

"Won't carrying him out of here worry his government?" Arthur pointed out wryly.

"Maybe they will not see?" Italy said, fidgeting nervously.

"We'll have to hope so," Germany nodded. "America, you're the only one strong enough to carry him. Let's go."

Alfred nodded and scooped Russia's dead weight up in to his arms, to his surprise the nation weighed a lot less then he'd expected. "Why couldn't you have just admitted it?" he murmured as he followed the others out of the room and out of Red Square to the hotel.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred wasn't entirely sure how they made it all the way up to his room carrying Russia _without_ being stopped at _all_ but they had and that's all that mattered. He laid the unconscious country down on the bed and straightened up, turning to the other countries assembled behind him. _Well, now what?_

"Uh, now what, dudes?"

Luckily Germany took charge, "Get out of the way, I need to inspect his wounds." He said, "America, help me get his coat off. The rest of you can wait outside."

As the others left hurriedly Alfred span and knelt back down by the bed, helping Germany tug off Russia's huge (blood soaked) tan coat. Beneath it Russia was wearing a thin white shirt and under that a undershirt, both were so bloody that Alfred dumped them straight in the bin (then he thought better of it because if a maid found them it could be awkward)

The gash ran almost the entire length of Russia's side and just looking at it made Alfred feel woozy. He'd seen worse wounds of course, he'd seen some _horrific_ things, but the wound just seemed so _out of place._ They weren't at war (well, Russia wasn't) this was peacetime and sure, nations sometimes got hurt during peacetime but this was _Russia_ and it had been caused by a _single_ riot. Alfred still had scars from 9/11, he knew Arthur had scars from the 7/7 bombings but even those weren't as big as Russia's gash.

Russia didn't even stir as Germany examined it.

"Mm, it does not look like it will need stitches," Germany murmured. "It should heal soon; I'll just clean and bandage it. You may leave if you want, America. I can manage this fine by myself."

Alfred left gratefully and found Arthur hovering outside the door. "Is he okay?" the Brit asked. Italy, Japan and China were a little further down the corridor, sitting on a wide windowsill chatting quietly.

Alfred nodded, "He's really out of it though..."

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, "He'll be alright, Alfred. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not _worried,_ " Alfred snapped, glaring at Arthur.

Arthur chuckled, "Whatever you say, yank."

"I'm _not._ I'm just annoyed is all." He muttered. "Why didn't he just _say_ he was hurt?"

"Would you? I mean think about it from his point of view."

" _Yes._ "

Arthur grinned, "So, that time you were running a 150 degree fever from wild fires?"

"That was-"

"Or the time you were about to collapse over those hurricanes?"

"I-"

"Or that time-"

Alfred crossed his arms and scowled at Arthur, "Okay, you made your point, dude." It was true that he hadn't spoken up all those times but that was because he was a _hero,_ heroes weren't supposed to be _weak._

As though reading his mind Arthur smiled sympathetically, "We're all supposed to be strong, lad and think about it; you didn't want to appear weak in front of us even though most of us are your friends. And it's okay to worry about him, you know."

"I'm _not_ worried!"

Arthur sniggered and Alfred was fairly sure he heard the Brit mumble, " _Sure you're not."_ Arthur was saved from his wrath though by Germany opening the door slowly.

At Germany's appearance Italy raised his head, "Ve, Is Mr Russia okay?"

"Ja, he should be fine. He's asleep now though, I wonder if we should just leave him here for now."

" _Que?_ I do not think we should leave him alone," France protested.

"As much as I hate to say it, the frog's right. We probably shouldn't leave him alone, he might get worse." Arthur nodded.

"Ja, perhaps someone should stay with him..." Germany nodded.

"I will!" France volunteered too quickly.

Alfred eyed the Frenchman suspiciously, he'd never heard Francis gush over the Russian like he did other countries but he still didn't think France could be trusted with the care of an unconscious nation. Even if that nation was Russia. Luckily Arthur seemed to share his suspicions, "No, you won't. I wouldn't trust you alone in the room with _anyone,_ especially someone unconscious." The Brit snapped.

"Ah, _Angleterre_ , why must you always be so cruel?"

"You don't exactly do much to inspire confidence, frenchy." Arthur said as Francis pouted.

Germany sighed, "I suppose I will stay if you will not agree."

"No it's fine," Alfred said ( _shit, why did I just say that,_ he thought, panicked) "It's my room anyway. I'll come find you guys when he wakes up or whatever." He added, ignoring Arthur's smirk.

"Good," Germany said, "He should be fine, but if he is not you have my number."

Alfred nodded, telling himself he was only doing it so he could rub that commie's nose in it when he woke up (and to make sure no one wrecked his room) As the other's left he let himself back in to the room and walked over to the bed.

Russia was twitching slightly in his sleep, his ashen hair curled with sweat on his forehead. Germany had left the country's scarf on but hadn't bothered putting his shirt back on; Russia's chest was covered in scars. Alfred knew the source of some of them like the ragged bullet wound in his shoulder from ww2 but others looked older, so much older. He wondered idly if Russia had more scars on his neck; he'd never seen it bare before. His fingers gently brushed the pink fabric and he considered unwinding, taking a peek but Russia mumbled and turned in his sleep and Alfred drew his hand back as though it had been bitten.

For a few moments Alfred stood rooted to the spot, terrified (well, not _terrified,_ heroes didn't get _terrified_ , he was just a little shocked) but Russia continued sleeping.

Alfred collected himself and ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to do. Eventually he settled for turning on the large TV and keeping the volume down before dropping into a chair to wait for Russia to wake up.

* * *

When Russia finally blinked awake Alfred found himself smiling with relief. It had been almost six hours since he'd collapsed and Alfred had been beginning to worry. It was late evening by the time Russia stirred, the sky was masked with gray clouds and the soft snow that had begun falling earlier had grown into a full blizzard.

"America?"Russia mumbled voice still groggy from sleep. "What-where am I?"

"Hey, big guy," Alfred said gently. "You collapsed, remember?"

Russia closed his eyes turned away with an embarrassed groan that made Alfred chuckled despite himself. "Guess I was right about you being hurt after all."

Russia hissed something in Russian under his breath that sounded none to friendly so Alfred smiled again, the last thing he wanted was to piss Russia off; he really did look in bad shape. The gash on his side hadn't healed yet, which was strange for a nation, and the bandage was slowly becoming saturated with blood.

"Did anyone else see?"Russia asked quietly. "My government-"

"Nah," Alfred said with a grin. "We got you out of there pretty quickly. Don't worry."

Russia sighed and closed his eyes again briefly. He still looked exhausted. "I should be getting back," he said but as he sat up his face paled and he moaned, clutching his head.

Alfred leant forward and pushed him back down, a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth. Germany had said that Russia would be okay in a few hours, but Russia looked like he was getting worse; his cheeks were flushed, his forehead was still damp and his breaths were a little too shallow for America's liking.

"No, stay here. You're in no shape to be going _anywhere_."

Russia laid back down reluctantly and Alfred wondered if he should call someone. "Why couldn't you just tell someone, dude?" he muttered as he leant over the bigger nation to check on the bandage.

"I did not think it was so bad..." Russia admitted, cheeks colouring a little. "I have been through worse before..."

Alfred rolled his eyes and leant back, as he did so though his hand brushed Russia's cheek and his eyes widened in concern. " _Jesus, Russia!_ You're burning up!" Alfred stood up quickly, "I should get someone."

" _Nyet,"_ Russia caught his sleeve. "I am fine, I will be fine."

"Yeah, you said that earlier too," Alfred said, yanking his arm away turning to the door. He was willing to bet Germany or at least England would be in the hotel bar by now, if not he could always find out where their rooms were. It wouldn't be that hard, would it?

"Amerika, _please_."

Alfred paused at that and turned back to the Russian; his purple eyes were wide and pleading. Alfred was vaguely surprised; it was the most emotion he'd ever seen in the other nation's eyes. "Russia, if you're sick I'm getting you help. Now stay here."

"Nyet, I am not sick, it is just the blizzard!" Russia pleaded. _He really doesn't want_ anyone _else in here,_ he thought with a frown.

Alfred considered this for a few moments, when it was hurricane season he got ill but with the shape Russia was in...

" _Please,_ Alfred _."_

At the sound of his human name Alfred's resolve shattered. It sound so _strange_ being said by the Russian, he was used to it only being used by Arthur, Mattie and occasionally Francis, he wasn't even aware that Russia _knew_ his human name. It sounded weird, not wrong, just _weird._ "I won't fetch anyone if you promise never to use my real name again."

Russia's face brightened and he nodded, "Deal."

"But if you get any sicker I'm calling someone, okay?"

"Da," Russia conceded.

Alfred nodded and hovered for a few moments, unsure of what to do. His eyes fell on the bloodied bandage on Russia's side. "Will you at least let me check your wound?"

For a few moments the Russia regarded him then he nodded hesitantly. "If you insist, Amerika." He said. Alfred picked up the first aid kit that Germany had left on the table and knelt down, Russia had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his jaw was clenched and Alfred resolved to get this done as fast as possible.

He unwound the tight bloodied material and smiled a little when he saw that the gash was beginning to scab over, just in case though he began dabbing more antiseptic along the cut's edges. He felt Russia shudder as he did so. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"Nyet, you are just _warm._ "

Alfred blinked and looked up at the Russian. "You're cold?"

The way Russia looked steadfastly at the opposite wall gave America his answer; maybe Russia wasn't so hard to read after all. "Well, you have a fever so I don't want you to overheat too much." He said, sticking down a fresh bandage and standing up.

He headed over to the cupboard where a few spare sheets sat neatly folded; they were much thinner than the thick duvets that covered the bed. He pulled out a sheet and tossed it to the Russian. "That should do, at least until you can stand up and get yourself dressed."

Russia tugged the sheet around himself and rolled slightly to face Alfred, "Where will you sleep, America?" he asked softly looking almost guilty.

"Oh," he hadn't thought of that before. "The couch I suppose. Don't worry about me though." He added with a grin. "Oh, I better let the other's know you're alright!"

Alfred pulled out his phone and sent a mass text (mostly because he was too lazy to call people but also because he knew how much Arthur hated mass texts) When he was done he flopped back into his chair and for lack of a better idea he flicked the TV back on. It was on a news channel, images of the riots in Moscow flashed across the screen.

"Change the channel, please." Russia said quietly.

Alfred did quickly changing it to the only English language channel available, it was showing some English programme. "I'm sorry, Russia." He said honestly.

"Nyet, it is fine."

They settled in to a (sort of) comfortable silence and Alfred could feel himself beginning to fall asleep, it had been a long day after all, when Russia spoke.

"Why are you doing this, Amerika?" he asked so quietly it was almost inaudible.

Alfred blinked and turned to the Russian, incredulous. Russia was studying his face as though he were a particularly complex puzzle. "You really don't know, do you? You needed help." He answered, simply.

Russia still looked confused and Alfred laughed, "Look, you might have been a commie bastard once but you're not now and things haven't been easy for any of us. We were friends once, Russia."

Russia frowned and Alfred smiled again, "Besides, what kind of hero would I be if I left you alone, huh?"


	4. Chapter 4

The couch was uncomfortable.

Like _really_ uncomfortable.

Alfred rolled over with a huff and wondered for the billionth time why he'd let himself be lumbered with Russia. He should have fobbed him off on Germany, or let France have his wicked way with the commie. Okay, maybe he didn't hate the ruskie _that_ much but still. He looked over at the clock, _2am_ ; he'd been lying staring at the ceiling for almost two hours. Finally admitting defeat he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

Standing up he glanced over at the sleeping nation; Russia was curled on his side, one hand was fisted in the loose ends of his scarf and he was muttering under his breath, twitching and shivering. Alfred frowned as he leant down and pressed his hand to the nation's sweaty forehead; _not good,_ his fever hadn't gone down. The blizzard still raged outside making the windows of the hotel room tremble in the fierce wind. He'd stayed at Mattie's once over Christmas, it had been like this then too but Mattie hadn't been ill, but then again, most of Mattie's citizens had central heating.

"Ergh," he groaned, tugging at his hair in frustration. What was he supposed to do?

"Мне очень жаль," Russia mumbled, curling tighter into himself.

Alfred crossed to the mini-fridge-freezer in the corner of the room and pulled out an icepack, then after a few moments consideration he wrapped it an old t-shirt (Russia would owe him for this) He headed back to bed and pressed the icepack to Russia's forehead.

" _холодно_!" Russia gasped, eyes flickering open, glazed. He tried to move clumsily away from the cold pack.

"Hey, come on big guy," Alfred soothed, "If you don't let me do this I'll be forced to throw you in a cold shower. And that would be awkward for both of us." He leant down and ran a hand through Russia's ashen hair. "Come on, it's okay."

Russia's hazy gaze slid on to him, "Amerika?"

"Yeah, see I'm not gonna hurt you." Alfred said with the warmest smile he could muster. Russia rolled to face him and this time when Alfred pressed the pack to his head he didn't flinch away.

And then Russia giggled.

The same unsettling, childish giggle he used in meetings, in wars.

"You are such a good person, Amerika," Russia said with a childlike smile. "Your people are happy and wealthy."

Alfred nodded but even as he did he felt guilty, not all his people were happy; he knew that. There were whole families starving, homeless; dying of diseases that could be cured if only they had the money. His nation was divided; rich and poor. But they still loved him, they still believed in his country, in their nation. Maybe that was the difference.

Russia's smile vanished. "My people are not. They never have been," he whispered. "The Tsars, the Bolsheviks, the Mongols..." he shuddered.

"Awh, come on Russia, I bet-"

" _Nyet_ ," Russia cried, so suddenly that Alfred leapt backwards. "They do not love me, they _never_ will."

Alfred didn't want to admit it but his heart ached a little. He remembered what it felt like for his people to be divided but still, they'd all believed in him; America, land of the Free. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like for them to hate him.

Russia's eyes fluttered shut again and Alfred approached him slowly. "Russia?" he reached out cautiously, touching the other nation's arm gently. Russia flinched away, rolling over, his skin was hot and clammy but he didn't shrug the touch off so Alfred moved back towards him.

Pressing the icepack against Russia's forehead again Alfred wondered how he was supposed to handle this situation (and if Russia would even remember this in the morning). Russia was still trembling (if this was _anyone_ else he'd know what to do) He settled for rubbing Russia's arm comfortingly with his free hand, to his surprise the bigger nation leant in to the touch.

Russia mumbled something too quiet for Alfred to hear. "What was that buddy?" he asked softly.

"I said I do not blame them," Russia said quietly, his voice was thick with sleep. "I would not love me."

"...Ivan," Alfred began but Russia's eyes were shut again, his breathing rhythmic, still twisting and turning with fever dreams. Alfred sat back and sighed, what the hell was he supposed to do?

The last time he'd seen Russia like this was in the midst of World War Two and Alfred remembered it like it was yesterday.

It had been after Stalingrad, Russia had won and things were beginning to turn around for the Allies, Alfred really hadn't needed to- he'd had no business on the Eastern Front but he saw Arthur often enough, Yao too and Francis (once they'd begun to liberate him) So he'd found himself shivering in a bombed out Russian city, running towards the building the soldiers had indicated (running past frozen bodies and _oh_ )

When he'd reached it Russia had been pale and grimfaced, "Privyet, Alfred." He'd greeted in a hoarse voice. (They'd been on first names terms back then, war did that) They had only seen each other in meetings and even though he'd known Ivan had lost _a lot_ of weight he hadn't expected him to be this gaunt. He was injured too; sporting a handsome black eye and an arm in a sling.

"Hey, buddy," Alfred had said gently. "Just came to check in on you." Alfred remembered being terrified, so terrified because Russia didn't look like _Russia._

Russia had nodded and led him into the ramshackle little building with a caved in roof and led him through the few generals and officers that had gathered there and into a backroom with a few army cots. "You look tired," he'd said by way of an explanation.

Alfred had been tired, always so tired. "Nah, I'm okay, Ivan." He'd said but then he'd shivered and Russia had frowned.

"You are cold?" and he'd left, coming back with an armful of winter jackets (thinner than the ones given to American soldiers Alfred nodded, he remembered joking about the Russian's being little more than cannon fodder but now it wasn't so much of a joke anymore) Alfred had accepted the coats gratefully.

"Where did you-" he'd begun to ask but then he'd noticed how some of them were torn, stiff with blood and Russia had turned away, slumped on to a cot and covered his face.

Alfred had sat down on another cot. "You're not doing so great, are you?" he'd asked softly and Russia had turned to him, eyes narrowed, teeth bared.

" _What would you know?_ " he'd spat but Alfred had seen tears in his eyes. And then Russia had rolled to face the wall again, "Da," he'd said in a small voice. "I am not doing _well._ " And then he'd sobbed.

Alfred hadn't known what to do then either but back then he'd been braver. Maybe it had been war time bravado or camaraderie or maybe it was because they didn't have the Cold War between them and suspicion and hatred and fear, but he'd moved to Russia's cot and pulled the other nation into his arms.

"It's okay, big guy," he'd whispered. "We'll be okay; we'll all get through this." And Russia had actually turned and buried his face in Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred sighed, things were different now. The war was over and they weren't exactly _friends._ He checked Russia's bandage (there was a little blood but not much) and left the icepack where it lay on Russia's forehead. After a few moments of staring up at the ceiling again he flicked on the TV, turned the volume down low and slumped down on the couch.

* * *

"Hey, Al,"

Alfred looked wearily up from his plate of bacon and eggs and smiled up at his brother, "Morning, Mattie."

"How's Russia?"

"Still pretty out of it," When he'd woken up that morning, slumped on the couch with the morning news humming in the background and looked over the Russian had been sleeping peacefully. The blizzard had calmed and the sun was shining. Judging by the sweat soaked sheet Russia was twisted in his fever must have broken sometime during the night, he looked exhausted, much like Alfred felt. He'd checked the bandage which seemed relatively clean and after a few moments indecision he had headed down for some breakfast.

"Doing better though, eh?" Mattie asked.

Alfred shrugged, shovelling a forkful of sausage and egg into his mouth, "Think so."

Mattie wrinkled his nose at the food flying out of Alfred's mouth and Alfred couldn't help but grin. Mattie brushes a few stray crumbs from the table, "And you, Al? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Mattie," Alfred said with a smile, how like his brother to worry about him. They chatted for a while about their countries until they were joined by the rest of the nations. They filed in one by one and each of them asked how Russia is and then shuffled off to get breakfast before joining them again; once they were all there Germany took charge (again).

"So, what do we do about Russia? America says he is still unwell and there are only a few days left of the conference," he began.

"Uh, sorry, are we really going to be talking about the _conference_ when Russia is falling apart up there?" Arthur interrupted, eyes narrowed and the table fell quiet. Russia was falling apart. _Russia._ It's the first time anyone's said it.

"Nein, that is not what I was saying," Germany said gently. "I merely mean what do we do when this is all over? I would not feel comfortable leaving him alone if he is still in this state."

Italy looked like he was about cry all over Germany and Arthur nodded, sitting back. "Me neither. And from the looks of things he's not going to get better anytime soon."

Alfred frowned, "Why not? His fever broke, his cuts healing; he should be okay soon, right?" The rest of the table gave him an identical look (it said, _oh, Alfred, you're so young_ , _you don't understand,_ but he's not young, he's old, not as old as some of them but still old and the way they still treat him like he's still this little _kid_ annoys him more than anything, he's older than Germany for chrissakes!) "Tell me." he demanded.

"The riots, mon ami," Francis said quietly. "They're getting worse. The winter has been cruel and it's only November, it will get worse."

That scared Alfred more than it should have and he paled. "I need to go check on him." he mumbled, leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

It always starts like this.

(The roaring in his ears- _food, money, warmth, shelter_ ) It's all they want and he _can't_ give it to them.

_He should be able to._

He's a superpower.

_Was_ a superpower.

(Is a superpower)

Not sure he even knows anymore.

_He twists, there's something constricting, someone calling his name._

Last time his people did this, _lasttimelasttime_ , they marched, calling for his Tsar to abidicate (he can still hear the gunfire _ratatatatatatatatat_ ) he might have fired some shots (in his dreams he sees them fall, hears them scream, blood spattered on soft white snow)

_Gods, it's so_ _**hot.** _

Nicholas was a good man, as good as any (he wasn't, he wasn't, _he wasn't_ ) he was marked by blood and death (if he thinks too hard he remembers their names- the hundreds who died on that field) Nicholas had been so _shocked._

Nicholas the Bloody. Nicholas the Saint.

_"I want you to do it."_ Comrade Lenin had said. (a good man, a bad man, a better man then Comrade Stalin who _ohstoppleasegodjustfeedthem._ )

Nicholas didn't deserve that dingy basement, that cold, cold end. (Alexandra and Olga and Tatiana and Maria and Anastasia and Alexei, limp and dead and staring at _him_ accusing)

And Imperial Russia was no more.

(He'd screamed for weeks and then his heart had fallen out)

Communism was supposed to save them.

Democracy was supposed to save them.

The General can't save him now (his grip is tight and cold on Ivan's heart and he _tugs_ )

_There's a dull ache in his side, it tears when he twists._

It's been building up for years.

Bombings and shootings ( _thechildrenohgodleavethemout ofthis_ ) he feels every death. Every death. _Every_ death.

(it's happening again, they're screaming for his blood, screaming because he's weak, because he _can't help them_ )

He jerks awake, gasping and confused, sits bolt upright. He has no idea where he is but there's blood on the sheets, on his hands, on his chest and he's so _hot._ Heflops down, boneless, exhausted, rolls so his forehead is pressed against the cold glass of the window beside the bed. Sighs with relief.

_Cold. Blissful, deadly, cold._

Slips away a little.

* * *

Alfred ran a hand through his hair as he hurried up the corridor to his room; it was going to get worse, they said, Russia was going to get _worse._ He shouldn't care; Russia's never given him any cause to. They were friends once, sure, but they'd almost blown the world up a few years ago, they'd almost destroyed _everyone._

Russia wouldn't care if it was _him_ dying.

Would he?

He mulled this over as he fumbled with his card key. He was better than this, he was over the childishness (mostly, anyway) he was a hero, heroes saved people. Even if they were villains. Like the way that Doctor on Arthur's silly show always gave the bad guys a chance to repent before kicking their asses.

He froze when he pushed the door open, barely swallowing back his gasp.

The bed was covered in blood.

Russia was twisted in the blankets, pressed up against the window by the bed. Alfred crossed the room in a few strides, tugging at the blankets- his wound couldn't have bled that much, could it? He leapt back when something warm and bloody rolled out of the sheets, yelping in surprise.

It was Russia's still beating heart. _Christ._ He would never get used that.

Well what the hell was he supposed to do with it? He glanced at Russia, sound asleep and breathing rhythmically. He still looked exhausted but there was something peaceful about his expression and Alfred didn't have the heart to wake him. He looked back down at the heart and was struck by sudden curiosity, what would it feel like to hold? He needed to move it anyway, he rationalised, it couldn't be safe just leaving it on the bed like that.

Hesitantly he reached out, cupping it and lifting it gently into his hands. It fluttered lightly in his hands, heavy and warm and Russia jerked awake. Alfred almost dropped the heart in shock.

Russia began to say something in Russian but the words died in his mouth as he his eyes landed on Alfred. "Amerika?" he rasped. His eyes were clear.

"Uh," Alfred looked guiltily down at the heart in his hands. "Hey, buddy." He said, smiling nervously. "How're you feeling?"

_Shit, Russia was going to kill him._

For a few moments the big country stared at him, one hand rubbing absently at his chest. "Da, much better." He said eventually, wriggling slightly. "You, uh, you have my..."

"Yeah, sorry about that it, uh, fell out and I didn't know what to do with it..." he trailed off lamely. Russia was still fidgeting and it occurred (somewhat belatedly) to Alfred that having another Nation literally hold your _heart_ in their hands must have felt pretty weird.

"Crap. Here." He said, holding the heart out towards it.

Russia took it quickly, "Spasiba." He mumbled, pressing it to his chest. Alfred watched in fascination (and disgust) as Russia pushed it back into his chest wincing and taking a sharp breath when he removed his hands.

"Did you seriously just push your _heart_ back into your chest?"

Russia smiled childishly, "Da. How else would I put it back?"

Alfred blinked, "Good point."

Russia was still rubbing at his chest but now he was looking around the room with interest. "How did I come to be here?" he asked quietly.

"You don't remember?" Alfred moved to perch on the edge of bed, making sure to give the Russian as much space as he could.

Russia scrunched up his face in a frown, "Nyet. I remember..." then he paled, hiding his face in his scarf and saying something pained in Russian."I did not really collapse in the meeting, did I?"

Despite himself Alfred grinned, "Yeah, sorry." When Russia groaned again America bit back a laugh, "I did tell you not to go." For a moment they sat in silence and Alfred watched Russia lean back against the window and look out over the city. "You hungry?" he asked quietly.

"Da, a little," Russia said tentatively.

Alfred was about to offer to help the other country down to the restaurant but at the thought of all the other Nations waiting down there he shuddered. Glancing up at Russia he knew he was thinking the same thing. "I'll get room service; they have that here, right?"

Russia nodded and went back to staring out of the window still occasionally rubbing at his chest. Alfred headed over to the phone and clumsily ordered some thin pancake like things that were served with sour cream ( _sour cream with pancakes?_ ) When he turned back the Northern country was still rubbing at his chest, a slight frown on his face.

"Does it hurt?" Alfred asked, sitting back down on the bed.

The Russian glanced at him briefly. "Nyet, not really. Maybe a little. It just feels strange."

Alfred frowned, "How does it feel when it's out?" he couldn't comprehend not having a heart and still walking around, it seemed impossible. He didn't really expect an answer but then Russia hummed.

"Better. It does not hurt so much, but I feel...empty when it is not there." Then with a small smile he added, "A heart is a heavy burden, nyet?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, smiling back. "Yeah, it is." Alfred licked his lips nervously, there was something else he wanted to know and since the Russian was being so unusually talkative he decided to try his luck. "How did it feel when I was holding it?"

Russia looked at him for long time, "Warm." He said after a few minutes before turning back to the window. Guessing this signalled the end of their conversation Alfred stood up and flicked the television on, quickly skipping through the news channels and settling on a cartoon about a boy, a talking cat and a dog. After a few more minutes there was a knock at the door and Alfred stood up to fetch the tray with Russia's food on it.

"You better not get that stuff all over my bed, big guy," he warned as Russia tucked into the meal with relish.

"It is a hotel, silly. They change the sheets for you." he said between mouthfuls.

Alfred smiled; if Russia had added something morbid to the end of that sentence he would have almost sounded normal. He was about to sit back down when his phone buzzed loudly, he pulled it out and checked the caller ID. _Arthur._

"You'll be okay on your own for a few minutes right, buddy?"

Russia shot him a look that said ' _I-am-not-only-older-then-you-but-I'm-also-a-big-motherf'in-country-do-I-look-like-I-can't-handle-myself_ and Alfred smirked before heading out into the hall.

"Yo, what's up, Britain?"

"Alfred," Arthur greeted curtly. "How is he?"

"He seems pretty happy, he's awake and all, I got him some weird Russian-y pancakes to eat, they don't even use syrup!"

"Good, that's great. Anyway, we've all agreed down here to take today off and resume the real conference tomorrow." Then he lowered his voice a tad, "And we'll discuss the other matter after the real meeting tomorrow. Are you alright watching Russia for today?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, Iggy. If he gets too annoying I'll dump him on you, okay?"

Arthur sighed, "Just try not to start a war, Alfred."

"Will do, Ig," Alfred said, hanging up. He smiled to himself as he headed back into the room, _no conference!_ "So good news, Russia! They've decided to postpone the conference and start it again tomorrow; we have a whole day free."

Russia was licking his fingers clean of sour cream, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed like a little kid. He looked up when Alfred spoke and smiled a little, "Da, this is good news."

And then Alfred realised that he had just agreed to watching Russia for a whole day. "Uh, what do you want to do?" he asked cautiously.

Russia frowned at him, "I will go home. You do not need to come, Amerika."

Part of Alfred wanted to let him go but the bigger part laughed, "I doubt you can stand up properly, dude."

A flash of annoyance crossed Russia's face. "Amerika, I will be fine." he said, a warning growl to his voice.

_Don't poke a wounded bear,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Arthur's hissed in his mind. "Yeah, that's what you said last time." Alfred muttered. "Tell you what; if you can stand up properly on your own I'll let you go."

Russia scowled at him, spat something that didn't sound very polite in Russian and braced himself, before pushing himself slowly upright. His legs were trembling and he paled instantly, Alfred stepped forward quickly but Russia held a hand out to stop him, " _Nyet._ "

"Look, Russia if you're going to fall-"

"I _won't._ "

Alfred sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Eventually he talked Russia into letting him help him home.

He helped the Northern country down the stairs, got them both into a cab and spent the journey wondering how he was going to convince Russia to let him stay with him. He watched Russia lean against the window; eyes closed humming under his breath. He still looked pale, tired and as Alfred had left he'd heard some American tourists talking about riots starting in St Petersburg and some other city he couldn't pronounce. No way was he leaving Russia alone anytime soon.

He'd phoned Arthur before they left to keep the other Nations updated. "Call if you need us," Arthur had said kindness in his voice.

Alfred hoped he wouldn't need them.


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred shuddered as he stepped in to Russia's crumbling mansion.

"Jeez, Russia, you might want to turn the heat up a little."

Russia waved a dismissive hand at him, leaning heavily against the peeling wallpaper. "You can leave anytime, Amerika." He murmured.

"Dude you can't even walk straight, no way am I leaving you here."

" _Хорошо._ " Russia growled, he had long since given up on getting Alfred to leave. "If you must stay you will leave me alone and not touch anything, _Понимаешь_?"

Alfred frowned, "Look, I'm here to help you buddy."

"I do not _need_ help!"

"Okay, _okay_!" _Jesus,_ Russia's mood had gone steadily downhill since they had left the hotel; maybe he shouldn't have let him leave. Maybe he should have kept him there (at least then if Russia decided to murder him people would hear. Out here no one would) "Can I at least help you upstairs?"

Russia considered this for a few moments before glaring down at his feet. "Nyet, I can manage." He shuffled towards the staircase and with a very obvious wince pulled himself up the first steps and then eased himself up the stairs.

Alfred stared after him, eyebrows raised until he heard the slam of a door far above him. "Stubborn bastard," he murmured. He was supposed to be here to _help_ why did Russia have such a problem with that? Hell, even Alfred still crawled to Arthur to mope and be babied when he was ill. Then again if Alfred was ill the last person he would go to would be Russia.

He stood in the entrance hall for a few minutes, drawing his coat closer around himself.

Russia had said not to _touch_ anything, but surely he didn't expect Alfred to simply stand _here_ all day, did he? (Okay, maybe he did, but Alfred would _not_ just stand here all day) So, just in case he began to move through the house as quietly as he could.

Most of the rooms on the ground floor were the same. Sitting rooms, reading rooms, one with a grand piano in that must have been a music room or a ballroom. All of them were empty, cold, the furniture covered by sheets or a thick layer of dust, all of it worn, broken. In most of rooms the curtains were drawn and Alfred wondered how long it had been since any of them had been in use, judging by the footsteps Alfred had left in the dust it had been a long time.

There was a kind of muted quality to the sprawling house. The carpets and wall paper had all once been richly coloured, opulent and beautiful but now they were fading, greying, slowly like the dying embers of a fire.

He paused in the kitchen. It was a large room with a dining area in one corner and a huge fireplace in another. The cupboards and shelves were mostly empty and when Alfred checked the fridge he only found vodka, he shut it with a sigh and a worried frown. When he straightened up he was met with the sight of the barren, snow covered garden through the kitchen windows. A solitary snowman stood under a gnarled dead tree, Alfred wondered if Russia had made it. The snowman looked sad, lonely.

Alfred turned away.

The table in kitchen was long, made to seat at least fifteen people. If Alfred closed his eyes he could almost see it; a roaring fire in the grate, Ukraine and Toris cooking will Estonia, Latvia and the other Soviet States sat and chatted and Russia sat at the head of the table as far away from Belarus as possible. He could hear the gentle crackle of the fire, hear their voices, smell the food Ukraine was serving up as Toris shushed everyone and handed out cutlery.

When he opened his eyes there was a lump in his throat and all he could hear was silence, all he could smell was damp, decay and something underneath, something he couldn't quite name. Pressing in on him, suffocating him. He couldn't imagine living in a place like this, this big house, all those empty rooms.

He left the kitchen quickly, shutting the door behind him.

The next room he stumbled across must have been a storage room; its walls were lined with books, uniforms, maps. It was unlit so Alfred fumbled for a few minutes with archaic lantern he'd picked up and a few discarded matches later he had light. (Stupid light, how difficult was it to get a small lamp or something) He recognised some of the uniforms; the long blood stained coat from WW2, a filthy rifle propped up against it, the white uniform of the Imperial guard, the green of the infantry and others he couldn't place. All of them were tattered, ancient, and bloody. There were medals too, military achievements and Alfred frowned, he had most of his military awards on display, why was Russia hiding his?

He moved past the uniforms and medals, deeper into the closet. There were older clothes here, thicker, smaller, tattier. Old toys too, matryoshka dolls, brightly coloured wooden animals and people, handmade. Alfred ran a hand through the dusty collection. On one shelf was a row of photographs, portraits. He recognised a few them; the Romanovs, Peter the Great, Gorbachev, Catherine the Great.

There were other photos there too, in the drawer beneath the shelf. He drew the pile and flicked through them; photos of the Soviet Union. The other states didn't always look happy in them (in fact there were some where Latvia looked like he was about keel over) but Russia did, even though Alfred could see that physically he looked little better than he did now. His coat hung off him, there were dark circles under his eyes, Ukraine was eyeing him worriedly in almost all the photographs except for one.

The countries were outside, in Russia's backyard Alfred realised with a jolt, it must have been summer. A butterfly had landed on Russia's nose and he was full out giggling, as was everyone else, even Estonia had a small smile on his face. Alfred smiled as he examined the photo; he had never seen Russia happy, _really_ happy. He set down on the shelf rather than shuffling it to the back of the pile. He had half a mind to steal it and show it to Arthur and Mattie and the others, he wondered how Russia would react if he did that.

His momentary glee though was shattered as he looked down at the next photo. It was of Russia and Stalin, the latter was grinning smugly, Russia though looked completely emotionally blank. His violet eyes were dead as he stared at the camera, his mouth a hard line.

Alfred dropped the rest of the photos back into the drawer and left the closet, wishing he hadn't come here.

It was easy to hate Russia. He was creepy, insane and friggin' _weird._ Toris had scars on his back that Alfred was willing to bet were the bigger country's handy work and then there was the whole Cold War, the Communism, the bloodlust.

But now all he could think of was how _lonely_ it was here. How isolated. How empty. How _cold._

He drifted upstairs, by now it was late afternoon and it was getting dark quickly. Alfred was thankful that Russia at least had electric lighting in the hallways and staircase (at least he wouldn't fall and die horribly and alone)

Upstairs was similar to downstairs, the bedrooms stood empty, dusty, locked away, there was only one that looked like it had been used recently, near the end of the hall next to the door Alfred assumed was Russia's. He paused in front of it for a few moments before knocking.

There was a soft sound that Alfred took as ' _come in'_ because he figured if it was ' _go the hell away'_ it would have been more forceful. Or at least louder.

Russia's room was only a little warmer than the rest of the house; he lay curled on the bed, back to the door. The wallpaper was peeling and the rich red carpet was worn and fraying, on the far wall a field of sunflowers was painted, the colours were dull now, fading.

"Hey, buddy," Alfred said gently as he crossed the room to perch on the bed. "How you feeling?" When Russia didn't answer Alfred leant over to check his temperature. "You're still a little feverish."

Again, there was no response.

"Do you, uh, mind if I check your bandage?"

Russia uncurled slightly, rolling onto his back and taking that as permission Alfred began laboriously unbuttoning Russia's thick coat. "Not gonna make this easy for me, are you big guy?" Alfred thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Russia's face at that but it was gone before he could be sure.

The wound seemed to have mostly healed but Russia still looked awful, Alfred wasn't sure he felt safe leaving him alone.

Russia seemed to read his mind. "Are you staying?" he asked quietly, eyes resolutely fixed on the ceiling.

Alfred really didn't want to (not that he was scared of big old houses or anything) but he _couldn't_ leave him.

_It'll get worse_.

"If that's okay."

The look Russia gave him told him it was anything but okay and Russia rolled over again, "You can stay next door. It's Bela's room. She's the only one who visits me anymore." He waved a hand and Alfred stood, smiling.

"Okay, I'll leave you for a bit but I'm gonna make us some dinner, and you're going to eat. Right?"

Russia snorted. "You cannot cook, Amerika."

" _What?_ " Alfred snapped, "Have you been talking to France again? Well we'll just see about that! I'm going to cook such a kick ass meal you'll be dreaming about if _forever,_ dude!"

"Burgers and ready meals do not count," Russia sniggered as Alfred left the room; at least Russia was sounding a little more like himself.

* * *

When he got down to kitchen he very quickly admitted defeat and called his brother.

"Maaaattie!" he whined, "I need your help!"

"What? Why? Is Russia okay?"

"Well _yes_ , but I kind of sort of promised I'd cook for him..."

Mattie giggled much to Alfred's annoyance; he _could_ cook, he just chose not to! "And what? You want me to tell you a recipe or something, eh?"

Alfred snorted, "Hell no! I want you to come over and cook it."

" _What_? Oh, God, you're serious aren't you?" Mattie sighed exasperatedly and Alfred grinned, he knew he'd already won his brother over.

"Well I don't wanna wreck Russia's kitchen even more than it already is, he might get kinda mad about that."

" _Fine_ , I'll be right over."

Alfred met Mattie at the front door; his brother's arms were laden with groceries. "This place could use a little cleaning up, huh?" his brother said quietly glancing around. "Is Russia asleep?"

Alfred shrugged as he led Mattie through to the kitchen, "I think so."

He laughed as Mattie visibly shuddered at the state of Russia's kitchen (he had inherited _way_ too much from France) "First I think we should clean this up a bit." He said, dropping the bags onto a counter and Alfred groaned, maybe bringing Mattie in to help was had been a bad idea.

* * *

It took them almost an hour to get the kitchen into an acceptable state for Mattie to cook in even though in Alfred's opinion it wasn't that messy, just dusty and that wasn't so bad, right? ("No, Alfred we don't want to add food poisoning to his list of problems, do we?") And once it was clean Alfred let his brother order him about, chopping vegetables, stirring things, cleaning plates. Mattie was making some kind of red soup, (" _Borsch,_ Al.") with little garlic dough ball thingies ("Pampushka's.")

"How do you know how to cook all this stuff, Mattie?" Alfred asked, watching his brother stir to huge pan of bubbling soup.

Mattie coloured a little, "Katyusha showed me..."

Alfred grinned; Mattie had never been very good at hiding his little crush on Russia's sister. "Romantic cooking lessons, bro?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Non! We're-We're just friends!" Mattie snapped, looking flustered and Alfred laughed. "She was just showing me 'cos I have a lot her people living with me now."

" _Sure,_ Mattie, whatever you say..."

Mattie glared at him before huffing out a sigh. "Put the rolls in, this'll be ready soon." Alfred stuck his tongue out before obeying and bending down to shove the tray of rolls into the oven.

"Are you really staying the night here, Al?"

Alfred looked up to see Mattie watching him, an unreadable expression in his violet eyes. "Well I suppose I have to," he said as he straightened up. "I mean he's not exactly 100%, is it? Besides, I am a hero, you know. Even bad guys need heroes sometimes."

Mattie hummed, sounding worried. "It's just...I'm wondering if Russia's _ever_ 100%, I mean how long as he been like this? No one would know..." he glanced around the kitchen. "It must be awfully lonely, no wonder he's always so desperate for a friend."

"Dude, he tries to force people to 'become one with him'," Alfred said, forcing down the wave of sorrow that welled up in his chest. _Mattie was right but this was still Russia_. "Maybe if he was a little less creepy..."

"Maybe it's all he knows how to be, I mean he's been through some pretty serious stuff, no wonder he's a little weird."

_A little weird?_ That was putting it lightly. "We've all been through stuff, Mattie. How do you know so much about him, anyway?"

Mattie smiled, "He was my neighbour for a bit, remember? We didn't talk all that much but he was still there." Then he turned the heat under the soup off. "Okay, this is ready; the rolls should be done in a few minutes. You're all set."

_Don't go,_ Alfred wanted to say. "Thanks bro, you're a life saver!" he said, pulling Mattie into a hug.

" _Pas de probleme_ ," Mattie said with a small smile, then he added, "You be careful, okay, Al?"

"Yeah, yeah, bro, I'll be fine," he almost added _what's the worst that could happen_ , but he'd seen too many horror movies to be that stupid.

"Okay, see you tomorrow, _au revoir_."

As soon as Mattie had left Alfred's smile faded and he sighed before calling up to Russia and heading back to kitchen to save the rolls from burning (just). Russia ambled in a few moments later looking paler then he had earlier. "Dude! You okay?" Alfred moved forwards, worriedly but Russia held a hand out to stop him.

"Da, da," he mumbled, sitting down heavily at the table. "I am fine."

Alfred swallowed, he really did not want to have this argument again so instead he placed a steaming bowl of borscht in front of Russia who sniffed it and looked up at him suspiciously, "You cooked this?"

"Yep! Isn't it awesome?"

Russia narrowed his eyes and took a sip. "This is my sister's recipe." He said with a smirk. "I know she has not taught _you_ how to make it."

"Shut up and eat your borscht," Alfred muttered.

* * *

Later, when Alfred had cleaned and washed up (the guy didn't even have a _dishwasher_ ) he headed up to Belarus' room and pulled his laptop out (he'd asked Mattie to bring some of his stuff over once he'd decided to stay the night). He changed into his pyjamas while it hummed to life and snooped around the room a bit (there wasn't anything interesting though) As soon as the laptop was online Alfred googled Russian news and found that there had been another riot, this time in St Petersburg. _No wonder Russia had looked so pale_ , Alfred thought as he read about the chaos.

_It will get worse._

He browsed about a bit before shutting the laptop with a sigh, it was almost midnight, he needed to get some sleep. As soon as he flicked the lights off and lay down he became horribly aware of every little sound the house made.

Every creak.

Every crack.

Every rustle.

Alfred trembled and drew the blankets as tight as he could around himself, wondering if he could make it down to the kitchen and grab some salt before the ghosts got him.

Not that he was scared or anything.

_Creak._

He really wasn't scared.

_Rustle._

So not scared.

_Rattle._

Okay, maybe he was a _little_ scared.

_Thud._

He squeezed his eyes shut. _It's okay, you're okay,_ he thought to himself. _Nothing is going to hurt yo-_ HOLY SHIT WAS THAT HIS DOOR OPENING?

_Oh God._

If he pretended to be asleep whatever it was would leave him alone, right? Unless it was one of those sleep-sex demon things! Oh my god, he was in so much trouble! The one day he'd left his anti-ghost charm at home!

There was something watching him.

He could _feel_ it.

_You're a hero,_ he thought to himself. _You're Alfred F. Jones, America incarnate. You're not scared of ghosts!_ Except yes, he was.

He was terrified.

After a few minutes he willed himself to open one eye because _there probably isn't anything there, you're just being paranoid_ and that was how he found himself face to face with a grey haired _floating_ man in a black military uniform.

Alfred _shrieked._

"Hmph," the ghost seemed unperturbed by Alfred's manly warning cry. "You're Matthew's brother, aren't you?"

"G-General Winter?" Alfred stammered, willing himself to calm down. He'd heard other nations talk about the General but he'd never really thought he was _real._

"Are you bothering Ivan?" The General asked, looking down at him chillingly. "If you are I will hurt you, you know."

"N-No, I'm here to- here to help."

The ghost sniggered, "You're trying to save him, aren't you? Well you're a couple of hundred year's too late kid. None of you cared when it mattered." He sounded bitter, angry.

Alfred swallowed, "I care, I can help him. I'm a hero, I can save him."

"Not this time, kid," the General said a little sadly. "This time even _I_ won't be able to help him."

" _Help_ him? You're killing his people! His crops!" Alfred snapped.

The General looked somewhat amused, "Yes, that's the price he pays for my protection. I do all I can for him, he understands." With a sigh the ghost turned away and drifted through the wall in to Russia's room.

"Hey! Wait!" Alfred called, hurrying out of bed and down the corridor to Russia's room. The General was standing over the other country, stroking his hair almost tenderly. "You said you couldn't save him this time. What did you mean?"

"This time will be different," the General said heavily. "I can feel it."

"Like more than riots?"

The General fixed Alfred with a cold stare, "Why are you here, boy? Why are you _really_ here? To help him? Or too make yourself look good?"

Alfred was about to answer, to snarl that _yes,_ he did actually care about Russia, he wasn't _that_ self-centred, but Russia stirred and mumbled something and the General vanished.

"Amerika?" Russia muttered blearily, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing?" At least he didn't sound too feverish...

"I-nothing! Just checking on you."

Russia's eyes narrowed. "You look pale, Amerika." Then he smirked, "Scared of the dark?"

"No!" _A little bit. The corridor was dark. And there might be other ghosts._ "I just wanted to see if you were okay." Alfred said stubbornly.

_Creak._

He yelped and Russia sniggered weakly, "Go to bed, Amerika."

Alfred glanced behind him at the open door, it was so _dark._ What if there was a demon lurking out there? Or a ghost? Or a bogeyman? Ready to drag him away to its lair and- "Can I sleep here?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"To you know; make sure you don't get worse in the night!"

_Smooth, Alfred._

Russia glared at him tiredly. "If I say no will it make a difference?" he muttered.

Alfred shook his head and Russia sighed, "Then da," he murmured. "Just be quiet and don't touch me, I'm tired."

Alfred sighed with relief (and decided he liked sleepy, agreeable Russia best out of all the Russia's he'd seen that day) "No spooning then?" he said as he clambered into the bed beside Russia.

"I am not so ill that I can't disembowel you." Russia said lightly.


	7. Chapter 7

When Alfred awoke the first thing he was aware of was the warmth of another person in his bed. He hummed sleepily and shuffled closer to it before remembering where he was and leaping back. He had almost _snuggled_ with _Russia._

"Yech!" he wriggled out from under the covers and ran a hand through his hair. A quick glance at his watch told him it was early morning though it was still dark outside. He crossed to the window and glanced out; at some point in the night it had snowed again and the whole world had been blanketed in white.

He sighed and turned back to Russia, who was still sleeping peacefully. He crossed back to the bed and touched the other's forehead, "Well, at least your fever's gone down." He mumbled.

After a few minutes he drifted downstairs, stomach rumbling. Luckily Mattie had brought over some eggs and bacon so after a few minutes scrambling about he found a frying pan and set about making himself a hearty breakfast. He shoved half of the food aside, intending on saving it for Russia but when after twenty minutes the other Nation hadn't emerged he caved and ate it (it was getting cold!)

Once he had finished (and washed up _again_ , stupid dishwasher-less Russia) he checked his watch, it was coming up to 8am. They needed to be at the conference in less than an hour, he frowned weighing up the pros and cons of waking Russia up. He could always just leave him here with a note, he looked better, healthier (plus Alfred _really_ hated this creepy house) He could always come back, right?

He was jerked out of his internal dilemma by a resounding thud from upstairs.

"Russia!" he cried, bursting in to his bedroom. "What the _hell_!?"

Russia was sat, knees to his chest, three empty vodka bottles by his feet. (How was that even _possible_?It had only been an _hour_ ) He looked blearily up at Alfred, "Почему ты все еще здесь глупый американский?" he hissed, brandishing a fourth half empty bottle.

"Okay. I have no idea what you just said," Alfred said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "You need to calm down, buddy."

Russia's eyes narrowed and alarm bells began going off in Alfred's head. " _I said_ ," he spat, "Why are _you_ still here?"

"You-You said I could stay, Russia. Remember?" Alfred said, edging closer to the nation (if he could just grab that bottle...)

"I said you could stay the _night,_ " Russia growled, clutching the bottle closer to his chest. " _Leave,_ Amerika."

Alfred licked his lips. "No. No, I won't."

Russia's violet eyes narrow " _Leave_."

" _No_."

For a moment Alfred was sure Russia was going to launch himself at him (and probably beat him to death with a vodka bottle) but at the last moment Russia slumped over, burying his face in his knees. "почему ты не хочешь просто уйти?" he mumbled. "Everyone else leaves..."

Alfred dropped to his knees beside Russia, surreptitiously collecting up the empty bottles and putting them a safe distance away. "I won't leave, Russia." He said softly.

"They all said that...Made them promise...I didn't mean to hurt them-I just...They still left... _why_?"

"Then _why_ do you want me to leave, buddy?" he asked gently, putting a comforting hand on Russia's shoulder.

Russia looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. "You'll leave eventually."

Alfred bit his lip, Russia was very obviously drunk, he doubted he'd remember this conversation when he sobered up but he couldn't lie. He couldn't promise to stay forever because he _couldn't_. "You'll be okay, buddy." He said carefully.

"Nyet," Russia half sobbed. "I miss them, Amerika..." he slumped forwards, burying his face in Alfred's shoulder. Alfred froze. "Everything is falling apart." He mumbled.

Hesitantly, Alfred put his arms around the shaking country. "It'll be okay, Ivan." He said softly. "You'll be okay. We'll all help out."

Alfred wasn't sure how long he sat there like that with Russia leaning heavily against him; he definitely wasn't sure when Russia had fallen asleep. He only realised when his phone started buzzing, it was almost 10am. _Shit_ , Alfred thought. _The conference_. He lifted Russia up (too easily) and laid him on the bed before pulling his phone out.

"Yeah?"

"Alfred, where in god's name are you two?" It was Arthur.

Alfred sighed, "Russia just drank four bottles of vodka and passed out."

"Shit." He heard a few muffled voices, "Is he still out of it?"

"Yeah, and I just really don't feel comfortable with leaving him alone..." _but I need a break._

There was a pause, "Do you want us to send someone over? You sound exhausted."

"Yeah, that'd be good," Alfred said guiltily.

"Lithuania arrived yesterday for the meeting today. He said he'd come."

Alfred bit his lip again. He wasn't doing anything wrong, was he? He wanted Russia to get better but he couldn't do that if he was too exhausted to function. Besides, maybe it'd be better if Toris was here...Russia actually _liked_ him (in a creepy totally not okay way) and Alfred knew the Lithuanian still worried about the other nation. (He never could figure out why though.) _I made them promise..._ Alfred shuddered, his image of a happy Soviet dinner dissolving in to images of the Baltics trembling, of Toris' scars.

He sighed, "That sounds great, Arthur. I'll wait for him and then come meet you guys, okay?"

Arthur agreed and Alfred hung up the phone, rubbing the back of his neck. He would just leave for the day, then he'd see if Russia wanted him to come back, that was far, right?

"You are leaving." A quiet voice observed from behind him. Alfred spun around to find Russia watching him through half open eyes.

"Just for a little bit!" he said with a guilty smile. "Lithuania is coming over while I'm gone."

Russia blinked, "Toris...? He does not like me. He will not come."

Alfred grinned reassuringly, "'Course he does, big guy. He's on his way over now." Alfred leant down to check Russia's temperature. He felt a little cooler and Alfred smiled.

Russia grabbed his arm before he could pull it back, "You will come back, da?" His voice was small, quiet, childlike and Alfred faltered. He sounded so _desperate_.

"Y-Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I-I promise."

Russia's face brightened considerably. "хорошо."

* * *

Alfred was greeted by an armful of Mattie when he got to the hotel. "'Sup bro," he said with a lazy grin.

"Nothing, I left Kinkajira at home and got lonely," he shrugged.

"Who?"

"My bear."

" _Oh_. Kumajiro."

"That's what I said, Al."

Alfred shook his head. He had no idea how long Mattie and his bear had been together but they still couldn't remember each other's names. Then again Mattie was pretty forgettable...

"So how's Russia?" Mattie asked as they walked across the lobby.

" _Ergh._ One minute he seems okay then he goes off the deep end again! It's _exhausting_."

"His country is tearing itself apart," Mattie said with a frown in his 'Al-you-shouldn't-be-like-that-voice'. "And you did _volunteer._ "

"I know, I know, it's just..." _I can understand why no one wants to be around him anymore._ "He's so different. He used to be strong and it's just _weird_."

Mattie shrugged, "I guess that's just how it is for us."

"I'll _never_ be that weak!" Alfred chirped and his brother chuckled, "Yeah, yeah Al. You're a hero. I know."

They walked over to the small room Germany had booked for their conference; they hadn't wanted to use the Kremlin for _this_ discussion. Alfred found that everyone was already waiting for them, expressions (apart from Italy who was happily doodling) varying degrees of concern.

"Right, since we are all here the first thing I would like to suggest is that we reschedule this conference for next year sometime," Germany said once Alfred and Mattie were seated. "Is this acceptable with everyone?"

"Oui, the conference was not discussing urgent matters," France agreed. "We could simply discuss them at the World Conference in spring, non?"

There was a murmur of agreement and Germany nodded, " _Wunderbar_. So now on to the more pressing matter..." he trailed off.

"We can't leave him alone," Arthur said quietly. "From what America's said he's still quite unstable."

"Ja, I agree. And his people are showing no signs of stopping their protests."

" _Cest terrible_! Poor _Russie_!" Francis cried. "I will look after him!" _and no doubt molest him in his half-conscious state,_ Alfred thought.

" _NO!_ " he snapped, at the same time as Arthur did. There was a pause as the other nations turned to them, eyebrows raised. "I just...I just don't think leaving France with an unconscious person is a good idea," Alfred admitted, flashing a winning grin. (Arthur was no doubt protesting just because Francis wanted to do something.)

"Oh, _Amerique_! You think so little of moi! _Angleterre_ has poisoned you against me!" he said dramatically.

" _Enough_ ," Germany snapped. "We actually have something of _importance_ to discuss."

France shot him a wounded look and Arthur rolled his eyes before saying, "Well Alfred, you can't very well look after him for the whole winter. You have elections coming up."

"Awh crap! I completely forgot about that..." The elections were due to take place the week he returned, how could he have forgotten? "But I promised him I'd be back..."

"Don't worry Al, he'll understand," Mattie said quietly. "Besides, you can see him from Alaska, right?" he added with a warm smile.

"What about his sisters, aru?" China interjected.

"Belarus would probably just make things worse, Ukraine is still trying to convince her boss to let her see him," Germany answered.

"Maybe people could take turns?" Japan suggested.

Germany nodded. "Ja, I think this is best. Lithuania will take a turn, I suppose I will too."

"Et moi," France said, with a glare at Arthur.

"I will too," said Alfred. "After my elections of course."

"And me," Mattie whispered. "I'll watch him. I know how to deal with winter."

"And me, aru."

It was strange, Alfred thought, how _this_ had brought them together more completely than anything in the past years. Maybe nations should get sick more often. Maybe they were all reminded that one day it could be them fading away as their people tore their country apart.

They talked for a little while longer, discussing rotas and emergency contacting and Alfred found his eyelids getting steadily heavier. After one (extremely uncomfortable) night on the hotel couch and another jerking awake at every creak in Russia's house he was _exhausted_. As soon as Germany decided they could all leave Alfred headed up to his room; what he needed now was a nice warm shower (he didn't trust the one in Russia's bathroom) and then a good nap. He'd head over to Russia's when he woke up and rescue Lithuania. They had agreed that Alfred would look after Russia for the remainder of the week and by then they hoped Ukraine could take over.

Alfred still felt a little guilty about leaving the older nation (and doubly guilty about leaving Toris with Russia) but he tried to push those thoughts out of his mind as he stood under the searing spray. Russia's house had been cold; the kind of cold that feels like it's woven itself right into your bones and Alfred sighed as the hot shower expelled the chill. When he finally felt warmer he stepped out and eyed himself in the fogged up mirror; there were dark bags under his eyes and he grimaced. He really needed a proper sleep.

* * *

"Privyet, Ivan," Toris said as warmly as possible as Russia's eyes flickered open. The other nation regarded him sleepily for a few minutes before blinking rapidly, as though he had just realised who he was.

"T-Toris," he said, sitting forward with an obvious wince. "What are you doing here?"

Toris smiled weakly, "America went back to the hotel for a bit, he told you I'd be here, remember?"

Russia rubbed at his eyes, "Da. I remember." And for a moment the two stared at each other. Russia was a lot thinner than Toris remembered, he hadn't seen him this skinny since the wars. He was pale too, almost ghostly. Loathe as Toris was to admit it there was still a part of him that cared about the huge nation in front of him, it was strange something the other Baltics would never understand but then they had never fully understood Russia (not that Toris could say he had though he did have more of an understanding than Raivis and Eduard)

Toris had known Russia for longer than they had (and sometimes it was hard _not_ to see the little boy in the tatty clothes, bloodied and bruised with dirtied, calloused hands standing alone in the woods all those years ago) and he'd definitely seen more of him then they had. He'd seen the Russia that had _sobbed_ when Catherine the Great had died and the Russia that had come home blood spattered and wide-eyed and trembling after _that_ night in the cellar and the Russia that had almost keeled over from hunger under Stalin's reign (and he'd tried so _hard_ to hide it, Toris had only been seen by accident).

(And of course the Russia that had taken up his rifle on Bloody Sunday- _hey Lithuania, we don't want children who can't play nice, right?_ \- he had never asked where the blood came from when Russia had returned)

"Toris," Russia said quietly, absentmindedly rubbing his chest. "Why are you doing this?"

Toris blinked, "Because I care about you, Ivan."

Russia frowned at him, "But I _hurt_ you."

"Yes, you did. But that was a long time ago," he replied (wincing as he remembered the sharp leather cutting in to his back).

Russia was still frowning at him but after a while he shook his head and sighed, "Why can't my people just be happy, Toris? I try _so hard._ " He mumbled.

Toris had no idea what to say to _that_ so he smiled weakly, "Well they can't be as unhappy as my people, can they? I have the highest suicide rates in the world."

Russia stared at him then he looked away. "I am worried, Toris. I think...I think this will only get worse." Russia's fists clenched in the bed sheets, trembling.

Toris leant forwards quickly and covered the closer of Russia's hands with his own. "We'll be here. Me, Katyusha, America, everyone."

"But..." Russia's head was lowered, his ashen hair obscuring his eyes. "Toris, what if I'm _dying_?" the words tumbled out of his mouth as a jumbled mess so it took Toris a few moments to work out what he'd said.

When he did his grip tightened on Russia's hand. "You're not." He said firmly. _You can't be._ He'd seen nations die before, they both had (but Russia couldn't die because he was _Russia_ ).

* * *

This time when Alfred awoke it was to the seductive aroma of McDonalds. He sat up, stomach growling to find Mattie sprawled on the couch, a steaming bag of food on the table. "Afternoon, Al." His brother said with a grin, pushing the bag towards him.

"You," Alfred said, striding across the room and snatching up the bag. "Are the _best_ brother/sidekick ever!"

Mattie laughed, "I thought you could use a meal before you head back over there. Toris said he could stay the night though, you sure you want to go back?"

"Yeah, I promised him," Alfred said thickly through a mouthful of burger _ugh, it was so good._ He looked over to find Mattie still smiling at him. "What're you grinning about, Matt?"

"Nothing," his brother said (still smiling). "It's just a few days ago you _hated_ Russia and now you're worried about him, eh? It's just weird. It's good. But weird."

"Mm, well apparently he's not communist anymore, who knew right?" he said inwardly grinning as his brother tried to work out whether he was joking or not. "You know, I met General Winter last night," he said as he reached for the fries.

"Really?" Mattie looked slightly surprised. "Did he talk to you?"

"Yeah, he was really weird though." _You're a couple of hundred years late, kid._ "But he seemed to like, really care for Russia."

Mattie smiled almost fondly, "Yeah, he's a bit of a softie really. So what did he say to you?"

_This time will be different, I can feel it._

Alfred chewed his fries slowly. "Mattie, can he like, tell the future or anything?"

His brother blinked, "Uh, I don't think so. He's in a lot of countries at once though so he sometimes knows what other nations are up to but apart from that...why?"

"Just something he said," Alfred mumbled.


	8. Chapter 8

Matthew walked him down to the cab, "You be careful, alright Al?" he said, hugging his brother tightly.

"Mattie, I'm only going to be gone a few more days. Besides, I can handle Russia _easily._ " Alfred said with a grin. He would only be staying with Russia for two more days, after that he'd have to return to the States for the election. The General's words were still echoing in his head but now there other Nations helping Russia that would make a difference, right?

"Au revoir, bro," Mattie said as Alfred clambered in to the cab. By now Alfred had memorised Russia's address and it only took him one attempt to tell the cabbie where to go. As the cab pulled up to Russia's house it started to snow again and Alfred sighed, hoping Toris was better at answering the door than Russia.

Thankfully, Toris answered the door on the second knock, "Sveiki, Alfred." He greeted.

"Hey, he didn't go psycho on you then?"

"No, mostly he slept." He said, stepping aside to let Alfred step in. "You're sure you'll be okay looking after him now?"

"Yeah, yeah, it'll be easy," Alfred flashed him a grin. "Thanks for looking after him while I was gone."

Toris smiled sheepishly, "It was no trouble. I made a few meals, Canada told me about how you got him to come cook for you two." He added, stepping passed Alfred and leaning against the door frame.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, reddening slightly, "Uh, thanks." Honestly, he wasn't _that_ bad of a cook, he just chose not to! I mean who had time to cook? He grinned. "So I'll see you around, yeah?"

Toris nodded, "See you and call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

"Good, he's in the kitchen by the way, good luck Alfred." The Lithuanian said with a warm smile before vanishing out of the door. Alfred leant out and watched as Toris clambered in to the waiting cab and it pulled away from the curb, vanishing down the road. He frowned. Toris had looked more worried than usual. He shrugged and headed in to the dusty house. Russia was sitting at the kitchen table picking at a pastry. The pallor of his skin had lessened and from the way he huffed as he walked in Alfred guessed he was feeling a little better, or at least a little more like himself. "You look happier," he said brightly.

"I _was_ ," Russia said, delicately pulling the pastry apart. "Until you came back."

Alfred thought about reminding Russia of his drunken words that morning but after eyeing the decimated pastry he thought better of it. "Yeah, I missed you too buddy." He said, dropping his bag on to the table.

Russia glared at him (in a _no one will hear you scream_ kind of way).

Alfred chuckled nervously, "So you feeling any better?"

"Da," Russia said stiffly and Alfred was fairly sure the bigger country was _radiating_ cold.

"Ah, right then, I'll just go dump my stuff upstairs, okay?" Alfred said, grabbing his bag and heading up to Belarus' room. When he got in he threw the bag on the bed and sighed, this was going to be a long few days. He spent as long as he could putting his clothes in the wooden chest-of-drawers before heading back down to the kitchen.

He stopped dead on the stairs when he saw Russia standing by the door, buttoning up a long dark coat. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Russia said curtly. "I _am_ allowed out aren't I?"

Alfred stared for a few minutes before coming to his senses. "Well, yeah but I'm coming with you."

" _No_. No, you're not." the larger country growled, his grip tightening on the ever present pipe.

_Just smile, Alfred, pretend you're not shitting yourself right now._ "Yes, yes I am." He said, reaching for the coat he'd draped over the banisters. 

Russia looked an inch away from tearing his own hair out. "Ради бога! _Why_?"

_Because I'm worried about you. Because of what the General said. Because I really don't fancy being here alone._ None of them sounded very good so Alfred settled on,"So I can make sure you don't drink yourself in to a stupor again."

Russia's cheeks coloured a little. "I was not intending to."

"Good, then you don't mind if I come with you then, do you?"

Russia stared at him for a few minutes before sighing. " _Fine._ "

"Awesome! Let me just go get my scarf and hat..." Alfred said, turning to hurry back upstairs.

"If you are not down in two minutes I am leaving without you."

"I'll follow you!" Alfred called back.

"Moscow is a big place," Russia said and Alfred could _definitely_ hear his smirk.

Luckily Alfred made it back downstairs within two minutes and Russia quirked an eyebrow as Alfred stuck his tongue out. It was still snowing outside but Russia seemed intent on walking wherever they were going. They walked in silence and Alfred made a few aborted attempts at conversation before falling into step beside the Russian quietly. Twenty minutes later Alfred was tiring. "Are we almost there yet?" he whined.

Russia smiled, "Da. Tired, Amerika?"

" _No_."

Russia paused when he reached a gated building; it was about the size of a small school, cream coloured and elegant. Russia pushed open the heavy iron gate and strode up the gritted path only pausing to glance back at Alfred when he'd knocked on the double doors of the buildings.

"Uh, where are we Russia?"

Again Russia smiled, "You shall see, Amerika." Russia sounded gleeful. Alfred braced himself for the worst.

The door was answered by a middle aged woman, dark hair up in a tight bun and streaked with gray. She beamed when she saw Russia, "Здравствуйте, Иван!" she cried, touching his cheek.

To Alfred's surprise Russia didn't flinch away from her touch, instead he smiled warmly, "Добрый день, Татьяна." The woman, Tatyana, glanced at Alfred. "Это мой друг, Альфред. Он американский."

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh! American? Are you perhaps here to look at the children?" She said in halting English.

" _What_?" Alfred spluttered just as Russia chuckled, "Nyet, Tatyana, he is just visiting with me."

Her face fell. "Oh, da. Well, come in, come in." She said, stepping back and beckoning. Russia inclined his head in thanks and followed her in, shooting a sharp look at Alfred that said _follow or die._

As soon as they stepped in something small hurtled towards them, "Иван!" it shot passed Alfred and collided with Russia who made a surprised noise and then giggled.

"Privyet, Alexandra."

Alfred blinked. There was a small child clinging to Russia's leg, dressed in a too-big pink sweater and faded blue trousers. Her blonde hair was held back by two swan-shaped hair clips. Russia bent to swing her into his arms. "Russia," he hissed. "Are we in an orphanage?"

"Da," the Nation said with a small smile. "And you must remember _Alfred_ , we are in public, the children don't speak English but some of the staff do."

"Oh." _What the hell was going on here?_

"Now," Russia said, still grinning at him. "Be polite and say hello to Alexandra."

"P-Privyet, Alexandra." Alfred said with an uncertain smile.

Alexandra giggled and whispered something to Russia who chuckled and nodded.

"What did she say?"

"She said your Russian is awful, but that you cannot help it since you are American."

Alexandra was still giggling and despite himself Alfred laughed. "Now that's just mean!"

Russia laughed, a real, genuine laugh (and Alfred felt insanely proud) "Come on, the other children are in the playroom." He said and Alfred followed.

Alfred loved kids. They were way more fun than adults. Aside from Alexandra there were sixteen other kids under ten living in the orphanage and all of them lit up when Russia entered the room. They stayed for over two hours, playing with the kids, Alfred found it easy to get on with them despite the language barrier (Russia occasionally translated) a few of the children knew a little English and one of the younger carers did too but mostly he got by. It was strange to see Russia playing with the kids, chatting to them, reading to them, he looked happy, relaxed. There were no creepy grins or threats or dark looks. And the kids were _awesome._ He was overly disappointed when Tatyana came in and announced loudly that it was time for bed. "Awhhh!"

One of the older boys, Aloysha stood up, "Может Ивана рассказать нам историю тогда?" he asked. Tatyana looked at Russia who smiled, "Da, конечно." He said.

The children cheered and Alfred looked at Irina who said, "Tatyana's letting Ivan tell them a story before they go to bed." Another boy, Konstantin, had pulled a tatty book of fairytales from one of the shelves and was handing it to Russia.

"Иван и жар-птица!" he said and Russia nodded as the other children arranged themselves in a circle around him. Alfred too shuffled closer, letting Alexandra clamber in to his lap.

"Alfred, you will not be able to understand," Russia said, reddening slightly when he noticed the other country moving closer.

"Doesn't matter," Alfred said with a smile. "I wanna hear you tell a story just as much as they do. Do you do the voices, Ivan?" he teased.

Russia glowered before opening the book and beginning to read. Even though Alfred couldn't understand what was beginning said he lost himself in the lulling tones of Russia's voice, the way the words flowed together smoothly and for the first time he found himself wishing he could understand more languages. He'd never had to, all of the other nations spoke English and though he spoke a little Spanish (if he really tried he could speak it fluently) he'd never learnt another language for the sake of it.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when Russia stuttered and closed his eyes, paling considerably. Alfred leant forward immediately, "Rus- Ivan?"

"I am- I am fine," he said taking a steadying breath.

"No, you're not," Alfred said and Alexandra's grip on his sleeve tightens, her eyes wide with concern. He doesn't want to do this again; he doesn't want to have to carry Russia out of here. If Russia collapses they'll call an ambulance and they'll know he's different, they might find out he's a nation and then...

"I will finish the story." Russia said, firmly.

Alfred bit his lip and glanced around at the seventeen pairs of worried eyes. "Fine." he relented. "But we're leaving straight away afterwards, _da_?"

Russia nodded and, taking another steadying breath, went back to reading. Mercifully, the story wasn't very long and though it took a while to say goodbye to all the children (especially little Alexandra who cried and held on to both of them) they managed to leave quickly.

Russia made it out of the orphanage gates before his knees buckled.

"Russia! Jesus!" Alfred said, dropping to his knees and pulling the other country upright. "What happened?"

"There was a- I don't..." he mumbled, running a hand through his hair and blinking, violet eyes slightly glazed. He slumped forward and Alfred swore, pulling the country up again and half supporting, half carrying him down the road.

"You are _so_ lucky it's me here," he panted. "No one else would be able to do this, you know."

Russia just groaned.

* * *

It happens all of a sudden.

He's happy for once. He likes it with the children. They're Russian. They're orphans. They know life is hard but they don't hate it (not yet anyway) don't hate _him_.

Don't hate Russia.

They don't remember the constant pang of hunger and the _ratatatatatat_ of guns and war and _death_ and they don't remember the look-over-your-shoulder-the-KGB's-watching _paranoia_ (Shh watch what you say) they don't know about riots and hatred and _tearing things apart._

(Except they do and he knows because he sees the pain in their eyes and they're _s_ o young and _so_ broken and it's _not fair._ )

He reads to them and he remembers his sister telling him the same story (different names, different time, _his name was Ivan just like yours!_ And that was the best thing ever) they were so little then. (you're the fire-bird then, he says) Clinging and cold and lost but it was okay because they had each other. (Katyusha laughs- No, I'm the witch, Baba Yaga!) And the children are smiling (he's smiling) and then-

And then-

_And then-_

There's a cacophony of screams and guns and bullets (and the sound of crunching snow and blood against the wall) he can smell smoke and death and _so many screams._

"I will finish the story." He says because the children need it.

His head is pounding and America is watching him with his stupid blue eyes (they remind him of Finland's _his tight grin as the snow envelops them – 'You can't win Vanya,' Finland says and laughs and he's mad or maybe Ivan's mad or maybe they're both mad- it wouldn't surprise him_ )

Alexandra cries (he wants her to stop, _needs_ her to stop) he doesn't want her to cry but Alfred is yanking him away and shoving him out the door and it's cold, it's cold, it's cold.

He tries to walk, stumbles, falls.

America is there saying something but it's drowned out by the screams.

_The screams._

* * *

"There was a bombing," Arthur said quietly, his voice static over the phone. "In St Petersburg. Protestors. They bombed a shopping centre. The Galeria."

Alfred sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "How many dead?"

"I don't know, they haven't released an official figure. How is he?"

"Not good, he was just getting better and then... I don't understand why his people are doing this."

Arthur sighed, "I think they're just trying to get their government to listen in all the wrong ways."

"Yeah but-" Alfred paused when he heard a shuffling noise in the hallway and looked up to find Russia watching him from the doorway. "Hang on, I'll call you back." He said, hanging up before Arthur had a chance to say anything in return.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, "And if you say fine I swear I'll carve the definition of fine on to your forehead- or something."

He looked pale again, slightly shaky, but not as ill as that first day (not yet, anyway). "I am feeling okay, Amerika." He said steadily.

"Good," Alfred smiled. "Do you want anything to eat? Toris made enough to feed a small army." He said, jumping off the kitchen table and heading over to the fridge.

"Nyet, I am not hungry."

"Well, I think you should probably-"

Russia cut him off. "No, Alfred. I do not want to eat."

Alfred stiffened a little. He was being weirder than usual. "Russia, dude, we're not around people anymore, you don't need to use my full name."

"You seem to listen better when I use it though," the other country said by way of explanation.

"Oh."

"Amerika, I would like for you to leave."

Alfred stared at him incredulously. "You're joking." _This again?_

"Nyet."

This was definitely a joke. "You think I'm leaving when you're collapsing every few days? Not likely, Russia. You need someone around to help you."

"But you are not ' _helping_ ' _._ " Russia said coldly.

_What?_ He was totally kidding right? This was just another Russia-ism. A ploy to get him to leave. "Nice try, buddy. But I'm not leaving."

Russia stepped forward into the kitchen. "Yes, you are."

"Nope." Alfred stood his ground, "You need-"

"I _need_ you to _leave_ , Alfred."

"Stop using my real name."

" _Nyet_."

Alfred took a deep breath. _Don't lose it. Don't give him the satisfaction._ "Russia, I am _not_ leaving."

Russia eyed him. "If you do not leave I will make you."

"Russia-"

"America. You are doing nothing to help me, if anything you are making things worse. You are only here because you have _very_ worrying hero complex and for some reason you think helping me will make you look better. We both know that. So stop pretending you _care_ and leave," Russia said with a cool smirk.

_Stop pretending you care and leave._

Alfred broke. "Right, okay, I'm leaving. _Fuck you,_ Ivan. Fucking _die_ for all I care. I'm here because for whatever reason I thought you were _worth_ helping but fine whatever! Obviously you're not!" He snarled, stalking past Russia and out in to the corridor. "And for the record I _did_ care but I get why no one else does. I get why you don't have any _friends._ Because you're a fucking creepy _psychopath_ who has no idea how to relate to anyone. _That's_ why your people hate you, Ivan. Because you have _no idea_ what they need!"

"Careful, America." Russia growled.

"Oh, _fuck off_ you stupid fucking commie." He snapped, storming upstairs to pack his things. He left without a backward glance and phoned Arthur from the cab.

"I'm leaving. Russia doesn't want me there anymore." He said shortly. "I'm grabbing my stuff and flying back to the States before I do something I'll regret."

When he got back to the States he went to his rarely used Alaska house (he told himself it was because he hadn't visited there in a while but even he didn't really believe that.)

* * *

The election came and went.

He spoke to Arthur and Mattie and Francis and all of them knew better than to mention Russia. Alfred tried to avoid the international news for a while (because if he watched it and thought about it too long he knew he'd feel guilty) but as it stood he was in the right.

Right?

He found himself thinking about Russia at the oddest times.

( _"Promise?_ ")

He saw a little girl when he visited Mattie that looked like Alexandra and almost had a heart attack.

Maybe he shouldn't have left but Russia was being a dick. (It sounded weak even to his own ears.)

* * *

A few days in to December Arthur phoned, "It's supposed to be your turn to stay with Russia. If you don't want to I'll-"

"I don't." Alfred said flatly. "Nothing's happened to him lately anyway." (Apart from the worst winter since records began.)

Arthur sighed and hung up.

Alfred failed to convince himself that he did the right thing.

* * *

"No! Don't go in there!" Alfred cried. "He's going to get you!"

It was a few days after Christmas and way too cold to go out anywhere so he and Tony were marathoning TV shows and film series. Alfred buried his face in the cushion, "I told you not to go in there!" he moaned as he heard the screams from the television set.

Tony giggled. "It's _Teen Wolf,_ dude." The alien said. "It's not scary."

Alfred threw his cushion in the direction of his best friend, moaning when he realised that now he had nothing to hide behind. "Tony, throw it back!" Werewolves _were_ scary! (So were creepy lizard things)

"Get it yourself!"

Alfred glared at him and stood up, pausing the TV. He crossed the room and yanked the cushion off the floor, "When you're being attacked by werewolves don't come crying to me, Tony!" he snapped, settling back down on the couch. He was about to press play when the door burst open and Alfred totally didn't scream.

"SIR! SIR!" bellowed the young officer that had burst in. "There's something-" he panted. "Something you have to see."

"What happened?" Alfred demanded. This hadn't happened since the Cold War. Russia hadn't done something, had he? The soldier pulled the remote out of Alfred's hand and flipped on to a news channel.

_"A third missile struck barely an hour ago in the city of Novosibirsk killing millions. With no Nation coming forwards to claim responsibility for the attacks the rest of the world can only watch and pray there are no father attacks..."_

Alfred gaped, " _WHAT?"_

_"The UN has called for an emergency conference to discuss the coordination of aid packages..."_ the television droned on but Alfred was already out of the room.

"Get the helicopter ready," he barked to the soldier jogging nervously beside him.

"But sir, the president hasn't decided if..."

"Do I look like I care?" Alfred snapped. "We're going to Moscow. _Now._ "


	9. Chapter 9

Alfred froze when he stepped off the helicopter.

He couldn't breathe.

It was like Japan all over again.

It'd been his fault. _His bombs, his brutality._ Kiku hadn't spoken for weeks, months. He'd seen the pictures (every night for _years_ afterwards)

He closed his eyes as Moscow burnt around him, the screams and crackling of the flames crashing over him like Noah's flood.

_"Sir, we have confirmed impact."_

_"Sweet! We got them good, right?"_

The acrid scent of burning flesh almost made him wretch.

_"Sir, we have some images, we've achieved almost total destruction of the two cities."_

_"...We did this?"_

He'd wanted to win the war but not like that, never like that.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

"Sir, we can't be here!" the soldier said, "We don't have clearance from-"

"Soldier, if you say that one more time you will _never_ work in the US again," Alfred roared. "Do I make myself clear?" The soldier yelped and nodded and Alfred turned back to the inferno before him. _Who could have done this?_

From seemingly out of nowhere Ukraine emerged, running towards him, "America! Oh, _America_! Please tell me you are here to help? I can't find Ivan, I can't find him! I can't-" she broke off sobbing and Alfred pulled her in to a tight hug.

"I'll find him, Ukraine. I promise. He's tough; he can beat this, right?"

She looked up at him tearfully and Alfred was struck by how much she looked like her little brother, their eyes and hair were completely different colours but they looked so _similar._ Something wrenched painfully in his chest, _"Promise?_ "

"This is so awful," she sniffed, "I don't understand how this happened."

"Sister!"

Alfred looked up to see Belarus making her way towards them. "Don't dawdle," the smaller nation snapped. "We need to be finding Vanya."

"R-right," Ukraine nodded, wiping her eyes.

"You, America," Belarus said, "Are you here to help?"

"Yeah."

"Then _help_." And with that she was gone, disappearing into the chaos that surrounded them.

"She's right, Ukraine, we need to be helping," he said gently.

Ukraine nodded again, "We are setting up a medical centre here, it's at a safe radius for now. We've already set up others along the city edges."

"Okay, that's great. You stay here and help out; I'm going to help Belarus find Ivan."

"Sir," the American soldier protested. "It's not safe, you could-"

" _I don't_ _ **care**_ _,"_ Alfred snapped. "Ukraine, this man knows about nations and he'll be only too happy to help with the evacuations and set up of the medical centre."

Ukraine nodded and turned to him, already barking an order as Alfred took off in to the remnants of the city.

He ran past bodies, collapsed buildings, destroyed churches. There were myriads of soldiers amongst the wreckage and not all of them were Russian, he swore he past a few other Nations as well; Yao, Toris. He stopped every few minutes to help people out, digging through rubble, tearing his shirt off to be a bandage, directing them in broken Russian towards the outskirts of the city.

But there were so many bodies.

_Be okay,_ he thought. _Just be okay._

He ran past the wreckage of Russia's house, a smouldering husk, he knew Russia wouldn't be there, Ukraine and Belarus would have found him if he had been.

_You better be alive you stupid Commie._

Alfred ran on.

Ran on to the orphanage.

The building was utterly wrecked, collapsed in on itself and ablaze.

Alfred paused; a figure lay in the yard surrounding the orphanage. A _still_ figure.

"Russia!" he cried, running towards the sprawled nation. _Don't be dead, don't be dead,_ he thought desperately. Nations vanished when they died though, right?

Russia's eyes were wide and open, gazing blankly up at the night sky the flesh around them was burnt. His ashen hair was darkened with soot and dust as was his pale skin. There was an angry red burn making its way up the right side of his neck and his clothes were in tatters, torn and bloody and burnt. There was a single trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

"Amerika..." he mumbled, his voice rough and cracked, "I cannot see..."

Alfred almost sobbed with relief. "It's okay, buddy. It's okay, you'll be okay." He brushed back Russia's fringe, his skin was fever-hot. "Come on, we've got to get you out of here." He said, tugging Russia upward, to his surprise Russia didn't resist.

Russia blinked slowly. "I could not save them..."

Alfred swallowed glancing up at the wreckage of the orphanage. "It wasn't your fault." He said firmly, swallowing back the surge of anger that rose in him. Whoever did this was going to pay. "Can you walk?"

"N-nyet..."

"Alright," Alfred nodded, "Okay, I'm gonna have to carry you, okay Russia?" Russia nodded and Alfred sat back, surveying Russia's injuries once more and wincing. "I'm gonna pick you up now okay?"

To his credit Russia only whimpered as Alfred lifted him in to his arms. "Just like old time, huh?" he breathed.

"D-Da." Russia mumbled faintly, balling one fist in the front of Alfred's jacket.

* * *

Alfred wasn't sure how long it took him to walk back through the ruins of Moscow to Ukraine's medical centre. The fires had died down now, ash fell like snow. _Snow that used to be human beings._ Along the way he'd picked up a few stragglers who followed silently, zombie-like, battered and bruised and haunted. One little girl was absentmindedly clinging to a headless teddy bear.

At some point during the walk Russia had started muttering under his breath. It had taken Alfred a few minutes to work out that he was saying names, an endless stream of them;

_"Alexei Yelizarov. Yulia Zherdev. Karina Zherdev. Igor Ilyin. Nikon Kovrov."_

When he reached the med centre his helicopter was gone replaced by a small army of them.

" _Aloysha Kozar. Alexandra Isayev."_

Ukraine noticed them first, pelting towards them with a cry. "Vanya! Боже мой, я так волновалась! How is he?" she asked, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I think he's in shock." Alfred murmured. "He says he can't see."

" _Milo Varonsky. Dmitri Varonsky. Tatyana Varonsky. Anya Varonsky."_

She touched her brother's cheek shakily and bit back a sob. "Follow." She said tearfully, turning and leading them to a helicopter. Ukraine paused outside the chopper to talk to the pilot. There was a stretcher already in it and Alfred bent to lay Russia on it as he did so though the other nation grabbed at his sleeve, "Amerika?" he whimpered, eyes wide.

"I'm here," Alfred said immediately, easing his wrist out of Russia's grip and grasping his hand instead. "I'm here."

Ukraine clambered in and slammed the door as the chopper took off. She stroked her brother's hair back and whispered something in soft Russian.

"Katyusha?" Russia held his free hand up like a lost child.

"I'm here, Vanya," she murmured, taking his hand and placing a gentle kiss on his palm.

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked quietly.

"Minsk." She said softly.

* * *

Alfred awoke with a jolt.

"Wh-what?"

He blinked; he was still in the hospital, slumped over in the uncomfortable plastic chair. His clothes still smelt vaguely singed and there was blood on his shirt. Arthur was stood in front of him, bent slightly so they were at eye level, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Here, lad," he said gently, pushing the cup into Alfred's hands. "You look like you could use it."

Alfred took the cup and gazed at it for a few moments, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. "How is he?"

Arthur grimaced and sat down beside him, "Not too good." He said grimly. "He still can't see and his country is in chaos. We still have no idea who attacked him, bloody cowards. We should know soon though."

Alfred sat up suddenly, almost dropping his coffee."Can I see him?"

Arthur lay a gentle hand on Alfred's shoulder, "He's asleep right now. His sisters are in there with him, maybe give it a little while, hm? You should get some sleep."

"No, no," Alfred protested even as he yawned. "Someone has to make sure Belarus doesn't find some way to marry him while he's out of it..."

Arthur smiled, "I'm sure Ukraine's got that covered. Now come on, they've set up a room for you just down the hall." He said, standing up.

Reluctantly Alfred stood and followed Arthur to the room. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He shuddered at the thought of how Russia must have been feeling. Or Ukraine or Belarus. The room had four beds in it, two were already occupied one by Toris, the other by, " _France?_ " he hissed.

"I know, right? I was as surprised as you are," he said with a fond smile (that Alfred pretended not to see) at sleeping nation. "Who knew France was so sentimental? Yao's here too, and a few others, they're mostly running about trying to find out who did this."

"We will find out," Alfred said quietly sitting down on one of the empty beds. "And when we do I'm going to destroy them."

Arthur shot him an unreadable look. "I know." He said. "Now get some sleep. In the morning we need to be at the emergency conference at 9am. It's just gone 2am now."

Alfred nodded in affirmation, lying back and closing his eyes.

(All he could hear were the screams and the hiss and crackle and Russia listing those names)

He wouldn't be getting a good night's sleep for a while.


	10. Chapter 10

Toris touches his cheek before he leaves and Ivan can't quite help feeling that this might be the last time. It's feather-light, gentle, like a butterfly, it's fleeting then it's gone. (And it's cold again).

There are a hundred things he wants to say: _sorry_ because if he closes his eyes tight enough he can hear the snap of leather (and blood) and Toris' whimpers, _screams_ (he was always _so brave_ ) and Ivan's not that Ivan anymore (except he _is_ deep inside and there's still that _need_ to _hurtandbreakandburn_ ) And _thank you_ because Toris has done _so much_ for him, always been good to him (even though Ivan's never deserved it) Toris has always cared (or has he? Maybe he's just pretending) And _don't go_ and _don't leave me_ and _don't come back._

But they all pile up and in the end he doesn't say anything, just stares as Toris walks out the door.

It's quiet in his head today, quiet in his bones.

Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace. The kind of quiet that comes before something big.

"You look happier."

Alfred's voice is loud and he's so light and intense that Ivan almost flinches because Toris is dark and soft and comforting and Alfred is big and loud and strong. He's like a firework, a supernova, huge and dominating and blinding and _bright, bright, bright._

He growls and grumbles and there's a tug at his heart (it's the General, he wants to talk but Ivan _doesn't_.) he looks away. Stands up. Gets his coat.

* * *

He likes the children at the orphanage because they don't hate him yet (they have every right to though, they of all people, who've lost so much and will _never_ regain it)

He knows it's only a matter of time.

Soon they'll all hate him.

He's cold and he's brutal and he's bloodybloodybloody.

They don't know it yet.

(they do, they know their parents are dead or gone or missing, they know that they're cold and hungry because he can't do anything right, can't even _feed_ his people, they know his people hate each other)

He knows their stories in their faces, in their hands, in their voices. He knows how little Alexandra's mother hung herself rather than care for her daughter, how Aloysha's father abandoned him in the cold, how Konstantin's mother treated he and his sister like animals (until his sister died like one)

It makes him angry (but he's angry at himself because their parents went through _so much too_ )

He shakes it off (the children can, so he must.)

(It's still quiet, too quiet)

He watches Alfred play with the kids ( _his_ kids because their all a part of him) watches him laugh and talk to them (even though none of them understand him and he doesn't understand them)

He's so _free._

It's dizzying.

He's beautiful like this, Ivan thinks, like a sunflower. Bright and happy and _alive_. Like sunshine and starlight and the feathers of a fire bird all at once. (he's so bright but even his bright isn't enough to chase away Ivan's dark)

* * *

At some point he wakes up in Alfred's arms.

At some point he realises how safe he feels.

* * *

_Something is coming for you,_ the General says. (Because he comes whether Ivan wants him to or not)

_Something big, something awful._

He's withstood the Mongols (burningburningburning) and winters and wars and his own country tearing itself apart (more times than he can count)

_Bigger than that._

_I can't protect you this time._

* * *

He stands in the kitchen after Alfred leaves.

Lost.

He drifts upstairs and falls back onto his bed with a bottle of vodka.

He doesn't look at the sunflowers anymore (they remind him too much of Alfred)

France turns up an hour later.

There's a muted concern in his blue eyes and he smiles kindly and pets his hair and sings to him softly (it's nice but he can feel an undercurrent of _what did you do to Alfred_ ) He keeps his mouth shut and lets France baby him.

* * *

After that it's a parade of soft concern and one way chatter. Belarus turns up and doesn't ask him to marry her once (though he does wake up and find her watching him as he sleeps once or twice), Denmark turns up and they drink themselves to oblivion, Britain turns up and grumbles, Canada turns up and cooks and chatters and brings his bear with him.

There aren't any major incidents but he can feel _it_ coming.

The thing General Winter warned him about.

He can feel it in his blood and in his bones, maybe he should say something but he doesn't know _what_.

Katyusha is watching him over Christmas. He's had enough of being treated like a child but it's nice not to be alone. They walk the streets of St Petersburg (his house here is smaller but he likes it better, there aren't so many memories, so many stains and cracks and empty rooms) he pauses in front of the church that holds his last royal family.

(he's been so many different people, had so many names)

He's tired.

He's so tired.

Katyusha takes his arm and steers him away, chattering idly, filling his head with white noise. He loves her for that.

* * *

He knows as soon as the bombs enter his airspace.

There isn't even enough time to scream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREPARE FOR MASS UPDATING.

"He's still listing names," Ukraine said softly, her voice cracked and shaky from exhaustion. "There were so many...and more die every day." She broke off with a choked sob and Alfred nodded mutely for lack of a better reaction.

It had been two days since the attack on Russia; they had lost count of the casualties. Most of the wounded had been evacuated to hospitals across Europe and more were being found in the ruins of the once great cities every hour, every minute. Alfred could feel his troops routing through the wreckage in the back of his mind.

They were still in the hospital in Minsk; it had become their impromptu head quarters. Nations streamed in and out as the remnants of the Russian government scrambled about trying desperately to regain so semblance of control. The Russian peoples were divided. Half of them believed the attack had been orchestrated by people within Russia, by protestors, extremists, minorities, it didn't matter who- they just knew the enemy was within. They marched and rioted as soldiers rolled in to their towns with refugees and wounded civilians. The other half rushed to support their fallen, offering beds, food, man power.

To Alfred it felt as though everything was happening in slow motion. Like it was a movie, a drill, a nightmare.

The rest of the world was pretty much holding its breath. No one knew who had done this yet. There was some evidence that the Russian early warning systems had been tampered with but the missiles should have shown up on other countries systems too. It had caused chaos. Accusations (mostly at China and North Korea) were thrown around left, right and centre. No one had come forward yet, no one felt safe.

He looked down at Russia pale and small (when did he get so _thin_?) on the hospital bed. Bandages wound their way around much of his body concealing angry red radiation burns, blisters and scabs and other horrors. What little skin that was exposed was stretched taut over Russia's bones, fragile and parchment-thin. His ashen hair was still black with soot, falling in damp curls across his sweaty forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips ghosted over names of the dead relentlessly though his voice had long since given out.

It was strange.

A few years ago he would have given anything to see Russia like this, to have defeated Communism. (But would he really have?) Part of him would have.

He didn't like to think of that part anymore.

Ukraine had been by Russia's side since they brought him in, Belarus had been in and out as she helped co-ordinate the scattered Russian government. She was slumped asleep in a chair now, fingers interlocked with her brother's.

Alfred brushed a thumb across Russia's cheekbone.

The other country didn't so much as flinch.

"How could this have happened?" he whispered. This wasn't supposed to happen. This _can't_ have happened.

_But it had._

He jumped when Ukraine touched his arm. "S-sorry," he said, glancing back at her.

She smiled kindly; her eyes were still red from crying. "It's alright, Amerika. He'll be okay, he's strong."

Again, Alfred nodded mutely but only because he didn't trust himself to talk without sobbing (or screaming). Ukraine shouldn't be comforting him. _He_ should be comforting _her_. He swallowed and took a few deep breaths, "I know, it's just- I don't...This shouldn't have happened." he muttered darkly.

She nodded, biting her lip. "You're right. It shouldn't have."

Alfred turned to her, "You should get some rest."

"Oh no, I'm fine, really-"

He cut her off with a kind smile, "Katyusha, you've been up for over forty-eight hours. You must be exhausted. I can watch him if you want."

For a few moments she glanced between him and her little brother and Alfred could see the war between worry and exhaustion waging in her eyes. In the end she relented. "Okay," she said with a small sigh, "Okay. You'll come fetch me if anything happens, yes?"

"Of course."

She bent to kiss her brother's cheek, whispered something in his ear before straightening and waking her sister gently. It was strange to see them all so close, so affectionate. Belarus awoke with a small mumble, blinking up at her sister sleepily. Ukraine smiled and murmured a few hushed words in Ukrainian or Russian or Belarusian, whatever it was it sounded comforting, before lifting her sister and guiding her out of the room.

When the sisters were gone Alfred dropped himself in to the chair and stared down at Russia.

_How the fuck had this happened?_

"So uh, I guess you're still not doing any better?" he said awkwardly, glancing down at Russia's still form. _God this was so stupid, Russia_ _ **couldn't**_ _hear him._ "I-I don't know what Ukraine's told you about what's happening now but a lot of people are here to help out..." he trailed off.

He kept expecting Russia to tell him to shut up. To open his eyes and growl or sigh and laugh at him for worrying so much.

He kept _wishing_ Russia would.

He sighed and sat back, "You'd probably laugh about how worried we all are. Actually, you wouldn't would you? You'd probably be overwhelmed..."

He wanted to say he'd do things differently if he had the chance but that would be a lie. That was the thing with being a nation, you couldn't be like a normal person, you couldn't be friendly to everyone you want. You have to be mindful of international relations, of your people's feelings. After all, peace doesn't always really mean peace.

"You better get better soon, big guy," he said gruffly. "If we're going to have to fight a war I'd like you on our side. It'd be just like old times, hm?"

Russia didn't move.

Alfred sighed again, "Maybe I should fill you in on what's been going on since you've been out."

He took Russia's hand and began to talk.

* * *

He didn't remember falling asleep but he must have because the next thing he knew Toris was standing over him nervously.

"Wh-what?" he spluttered and Toris grimaced apologetically. Alfred yawned and sat up straighter, "Toris, what's going on?"

"Someone has taken responsibility for the attacks," the Lithuanian said quietly.

" _What?_ When!?"

"A little while ago, England has called for a meeting. He sent me to find you."

Alfred rubbed at his eyes, glancing at Russia, "I can't leave him though..." he mumbled groggily.

Toris smiled, "It's okay. I'll watch him. They're upstairs, you better hurry."

Alfred jumped up, pausing to thank Toris hurriedly before rushing out of the room and upstairs to the room they'd designated as their unofficial conference room. A few other Nations were already in there, Alfred assumed most of them were back home or out in Russia co-ordinating troops. He spotted Ukraine and Belarus looking far more awake then Alfred felt and smiled reassuringly at them before taking a seat beside Francis who was sat snapping down the phone in heated French.

" _Mon dieu_ ," he muttered hanging up. "Some people are idiots."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh you know, people are worried about how much aid we can give to Russia without upsetting other people. This would be a lot easier if they could all just get along for a few days."

Alfred smiled tiredly, "That'll never happen."

"Oui, you are probably right there Amerique and how is our dear Russie?"

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, "He's the same." He said quietly.

Francis rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, "He will be okay soon, Alfred. You know that." He nodded silently but Russia _wouldn't_ be okay. Not for a long time.

An eerie hush descended on the room when Arthur marched in, flanked by two uniformed men. Alfred sat forward eagerly; the sooner they worked out who did this the sooner he could tear them to pieces.

"Right, so all of you know that a little over half an hour ago someone took responsibility for the attacks on the Russian cities, the other Nations and our governments are all being debriefed at the same time as we are," Arthur said coolly. "It may surprise some of you to learn that this was an attack by a _group_ rather than a country."

At that a wave a murmers and whispers ran through the room and Arthur held up a hand to silence them. "It is a group made up of many nationalities."

Alfred looked up at that, a sick feeling curling in his gut. "What nationalities?"

Arthur glanced at him, "Now I don't want to alarm anyone-"

"What nationalities, Arthur?" Alfred repeated.

Arthur sighed, "Russian, British, Eastern European, Nordic, American..."

Alfred felt numb. He wasn't stupid; he knew there were people in his country that wanted to do these kinds of things. His government might hide the worst of it from him but he could always feel it in the darker parts of his mind. He'd just never thought...

"Where did they get the missiles?" Francis was asking over the sound of Alfred's thundering heart.

"We're not entirely sure yet. We believe they either assembled them themselves or have members of high military rank."

_His people. His people had done this._

"But someone would have reported missing missiles, non?"

"Exactly," Arthur said grimly.

"You knew about this group before the attack?" Someone asked from somewhere behind Alfred.

"Yes, MI5 was monitoring a cell that popped up in London a few months ago; we thought they were a low level threat. The CIA has files on them as well as Interpol and multiple other intelligence services but this is their first major attack. They've claimed responsibility to a few minor attacks throughout the world as well though."

_The CIA. He should have known, should have been told (maybe he was)_ _**how could his people do this** _ _?_

"What do they want?" Ukraine asked, voice slightly trembling.

_He should have known._

Again Arthur sighed, "Well their basic believe is that humanity has been corrupted by materialism and the only way we can move forwards is to rid ourselves of society and start again. You know, the whole destroy the cities only the best of us survive and build a new society in the wilderness."

_He should have done something to stop this._

"But why attack Russia, aru?"

_Yeah, why Russia. Surely America was a much more appealing target._

"I agree," Francis added. "And why use nuclear weapons?"

_It should have been him._

_They should have attacked_ _**him.** _

"At this point that's all we know, I mean aside from taking credit and telling us they'll be in touch we have no idea."

"Do we know the names of any of the members?" Alfred asked quietly.

Arthur swallowed as his green gaze slid on to Alfred. "We have a few low level members being brought in by MI6 in London but no higher ups..."

Alfred stood. "I want to meet them."

"I don't think that's a good idea lad-"

"I want to meet _them._ " he repeated firmly.

For a few minutes Arthur stared at him then, after taking a deep breath he spoke. "Okay. Okay, Alfred. We're flying them here; you'll have to be quick though. The Russians will want to have their own words with them."

"Understood."

_I'll get them to talk._

_I'll make them pay._


	12. Chapter 12

An hour or so later Alfred was escorted to a small, unmarked building a few blocks away from the hospital. He was met by a suave British agent who greeted him curtly and led him in to the building, "We have the two suspects held separately," he said as they walked. "You get to talk to this one."

He shoved a file into Alfred's arms. It was thin, stamped with various 'eyes only' directives. The photograph clipped to it showed a young a woman, thirty at the most, with dark curled eye and large dark eyes. "Great," he muttered. "Leave me with the chick." He reflected it was probably Arthur's input. Arthur knew he wouldn't knock around a woman. A man on the other hand...

"Danica," he said, sounding out the name slowly. "That's not English, right?"

The agent shot him a withering look. "It's Slavic. We're not entirely sure where she's from, haven't been able to dig up much else on her to be honest. All we know for sure is that she turned up in 1992 on our radars. Mostly in to cyber terrorism, the occasional bomb threat. Nothing this big though."

He stopped in front of a solid gray door. "She's in there. The FSB are sending agents over as we speak so you better be quick, yank."

Alfred nodded as the agent unlocked the door, he wondered if they had any idea who he really was or if they thought he was just an under dressed FBI agent or something. "Good luck," said the agent. "She's a tricky one."

He nodded and pushed into the room. Danica was sitting back in her chair, twirling one strand of dark hair around her finger, she smirked. Alfred felt it like a jolt. "You're one of us, aren't you?"

Danica fluttered her eyelashes, "One of _us?_ But what can you mean by that?"

Alfred slammed the file down on the table and dropped himself into the chair opposite her. He was itching to tear her apart. "Don't play dumb." He snapped.

She chuckled, "No, from what I hear that is your job, Amerika."

Alfred glowered at her, his fists aching to break something and she smirked again. "All right. You caught me; perhaps you are not as stupid as they say. I am a Nation, or at least I _was_."

"Old Nations vanish," Alfred said.

She laughed cuttingly, "Do they? From what I've heard our dear friend Gilbert is still alive and kicking."

"Gilbert's an exception."

She leant forwards, "Then so am I."

Alfred sat back, "Alright then, I'll bite. Which country are you?"

"Oh come now, Alfred. Surely you are not _so_ dumb that you have no idea about who I am?"

Alfred's confidence wavered; geography never had been his strong point. He mentally scoured his memory for countries near Russia, there were his sister's, the Baltics, but she was definitely not any of them. There was that country Russia was always at war with and a few others...

She tutted, "Oh, Alfred. I'm hurt, and we've had such fun together in the past. But I am sure you will work it out soon enough."

Alfred wasn't about to waste his hour playing games with her so he changed his tact, "You bombed Russia. Why?"

"He deserved it," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Alfred shook with anger, "You killed _millions_ because he _deserved it_?"

She giggled, too high, unnatural. "You should be grateful, Amerika. Their original target was _you_."

" _Why_?"

"Why you? Do you even need to ask?"

_Humanity has been corrupted by materialism and the only way we can move forwards is to rid ourselves of society and start again,_ Arthur had said. Alfred gritted his teeth, "Where did you get the bombs?"

Danica laughed, "Oh, even _you_ must know that every man has a price, or are your government that untrusting of you? Most of the traders were happy once they knew who the intended target was."

Alfred shuddered a little at that. He wasn't as naive to believe that the world wasn't a dangerous place just because they weren't all at each other's throats anymore but he didn't like to think about the fact that there were whole groups of people out there willing to nuke a country for revenge. He ground his teeth, clenched his fists. He thought about the kids at the orphanages, the hotel workers, the people he'd passed on the streets. "Why?"

"Oh, some of them thing we are punishing them for their corrupt government, other's think we are attacking them to prevent a resurgent Russia. It makes no matter. They are petty creatures, people, aren't they?"

"That's not what I mean," he growled. "Tell me whyall those people deserved to die? What could Russia have possible have done to _you_ to earn that?"

Danica slammed her hands on to the desk and despite himself Alfred jumped. She grinned; it reminded Alfred of the way Russia would smile on the frontlines, all teeth and harshness and cold, _cold_ intentions. "Did you think of that before bombing Japan?"

Alfred flinched- _darkness and flames and screaming-_ "That was different," he said steadily. "It was war. We gave them full warning." He repeated the lines easily; after all they had been reeled off to him by more generals than he could count.

"The world is always at war, Amerika. There are just periods where it is better hidden. You should know this."

"You can't keep this up. When the Russians get here they won't be as kind to you as I was."

She laughed, "You think I intend to still be here when they arrive? You're more naive than I thought."

Alfred bristled, "What do you mean?"

And she reached up – Alfred froze, hand going automatically to his sidearm - "Do not be so jumpy, Amerika." She chastised as she (with some difficulty as she was cuffed) loosened an earring. "I have been disarmed." She placed the earring on the table.

Alfred stared at it.

"It is a listening device," she said proudly. "Made by the Japanese if I am not mistaken, which I never am. Pick it up."

"How do I know it's not a tiny bomb?"

She smirked again, "You do not."

Hesitantly, he reached for the jewellery, lifting it up to inspect it. "What do you expect me to do with it?"

"Put it up to your ear," Danica said. "And listen."

Alfred knew he probably shouldn't but that had never stopped him before. He raised the earring to his ear tentatively. He could her soft noises, a voice- someone singing. His eyes went wide, "That's Ukraine!"

"I have a worker in the hospital," she smiled. "Good, isn't it?"

Alfred stood, still pressing the tiny speaker to his ear. He had to tell someone- to warn them. Danica's eyes went darker. "Leave and you shall regret it." she spat.

Alfred took a deep breath and sat back down shakily. With his freehand he reached into his pocket and unlocked his mobile. He was an expert at touch-texting; he had to be to survive all of Germany's meetings. "What are you going to do?"

"That's better," she grinned lazily. "Now, what _you_ are going to do is let me go."

He scoffed, "Right, yeah, that'll be easy. I'll just waltz out of here with you and hope the Ruskies don't shoot us both. Great plan."

"Nyet," she said curtly. "You will inform them that I am an undercover agent working for the Americans."

"You're joking. Or mad. Or both. I don't know why you think I'd help you after what you did."

_They have worker in hospital-_ Alfred texted, sent to Arthur hopefully.

"I think you'll find I can be quite persuasive," she said in a flawless New York accent. Alfred blinked at her and she sniggered and dropped the accent, "I could bomb your country."

"From here? I doubt it. My early warning systems are top of the range."

"Oh really? So were Russia's and look where that got him."

Alfred bit his lip. He'd been getting hourly status updates from all major military bases and defence systems since the attack but still... It wouldn't do well to let her see his panic though. "Bullcrap. If you coulda attacked us you would of the moment you got captured."

"And how do you know I didn't plan on being captured?"

_I don't,_ Alfred thought. "I just do." He said.

She sat back, crossed her legs. "Da, that may be true and perhaps we are not ready to take out our next target yet but we still have Russia."

Alfred's blood turned cold, "What do you mean?"

She laughed, reached up to the other earring and twisted it.

Over the radio device Russia screamed.

"Stop!" Alfred cried, "Please, stop!"

He could hear Ukraine panicking, alarms going off, doctors rushing in but all that had a faintly muted quality behind Russia's piercing screams.

Danica laughed, "You will do as I say?"

Alfred froze. He couldn't (he had to) but he _couldn't_ (but _Russia_ ) she'd hurt someone else (she _was_ hurting someone right now) he was a soldier (not anymore.)

He looked over at her mutely and in his ear Russia kept screaming.

* * *

**AN2:** so yeah, Iggy's spies should have really taken her earrings but ah well. They're overworked and underpaid and hey, maybe one is a double agent.


	13. Chapter 13

"Stop!" Alfred begged, "Please, _stop_!"

Danica sat back, dropped her hands to her lap. "You will do as I say?"

He couldn't (but he _needed_ to make Russia stop screaming) "Yes!" he cried, "Yes! Just stop!"

"Good," she purred, reaching up to twist her earring. Abruptly Russia stopped screaming; monitors and doctors still buzzed over the earpiece. He could hear Ukraine sobbing quietly over the hum. Alfred let out a ragged sigh of relief and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

Danica grinned, "You will go outside and tell those nice young agents that I am an undercover agent working for you. CIA, FBI, it does not matter. You will release me to continue my investigations, da?"

"They won't believe me."

Her smile didn't falter, "Oh, they _will_ though. The will find the recording device in this room has malfunctioned, a simple technological error – they did set this up in a hurry after all."

Alfred changed tack, he couldn't let her go, he just needed to stall her until he thought of something. "You think your little group will welcome you back after you've been captured? They might think you've been compromised."

The FSB would be here soon, he needed to do _something_ fast.

She smirked, "They will not think too much about such matters. They may not even notice I am gone."

Alfred glanced up at the clock on the wall, he had about twenty minutes. "How do I know you won't just keep hurting Russia anyway?"

"You do not." Her smile didn't falter.

"What happens if I let you go?" he asked quietly.

"I go back to my life, you go back to yours. Until next time, of course."

Alfred growled with frustration, "What does that _mean_?"

He can't let her go (but he already knows he will.)

She chuckled, it made his skin crawl.

"You'll bomb my country," Alfred said, a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "Or perhaps I will bomb Britain. Or Canada. Or France. Or maybe China, Japan, Germany."

"So if I let you go you'll attack someone else."

"Correct," she said smugly.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I keep attacking Russia. I have agents all over his country. All it takes is a small signal from me."

Alfred bit his lip. "If I let you go more people will die then if don't."

Her smile wavered a little, "Da. But it will take time for us to arrange the bombs; my group may not want to wait though. They may attack ahead of schedule. But if you are okay listening to your precious little friend being tortured then that is fine by me." She raised her hand, reaching for the earring.

Alfred grit his teeth, clenched his fists. " _Don't._ "

She giggled, "How sweet, little Amerika defending poor Vanya. Why are you I wonder? After his oil? His natural resources? What?"

Alfred ignored her question, "I'm not letting you go." He said resolutely. Russia wouldn't die. He was too big, too strong. But if he let her go and she bombed somewhere else millions more would die.

As though reading his mind Danica smirked, "You are thinking that Russia will not die and that is true. But how long do you think it will be before he goes mad with pain? It is also true that if you let me go I will bomb other countries, but that will happen with or without me."

" _Why_ are you doing this?" Alfred asked, half desperately.

She looked almost disappointed. "I told you, Amerika. Russia deserved it. So do you. So do all of you, you especially, almost as much as Russia does. You are supposedly a first world country yet your people starve to death, die of diseases easily cured, live on the streets all because they have no money."

Alfred bristled, "At least they're _alive._ If you had your way they would all be dead."

Danica's eyes darkened, her smirk vanished. "You do not deserve them!" she snapped and Alfred flinched slightly at the intensity of her words. For the first time he saw something other than mirth swirling in her dark eyes – he saw pure, unbridled rage and hatred.

Alfred's mouth was dry, "And you'd do better by them?"

She sat back, "I could have been a paradise. I _should_ have been a paradise." Her voice shook with cold anger. Alfred had never been any good at playing bad cop, good cop he could do though.

"What happened to your country, Danica?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, smiled a little. "You have five minutes before our friends from the FSB arrive."

Alfred stood up, "I'll be right back." He said as evenly as possible. He needed more time, if the FSB got to her they'd arrest her, his country would be bombed. Or Arthur's. Or Mattie's. Or anyone's. And she'd keep torturing Russia. If he let her go she might wait a while. They might be able to find her and stop her. He wasn't sure he had much of a choice.

As soon as he stepped out of the room he was met by the gruff agent who'd led him in. "Mr Jones," he greeted. Alfred nodded in reply.

"She's an undercover CIA asset," Alfred muttered, the agent's eyes went wide and he quirked his eyebrow reminding Alfred forcibly of Arthur. (He really needed to speak to him.)

"Are you sure?"

Alfred shot him what he hoped was a passable scathing look. "She knew the correct codes and operation names. I checked her story with D.C, she checks out. We need to let her go as soon as possible so her covers not blown. If we release her within the hour she should be able to talk it off."

The agent's jaw dropped. "There are several high level FSB agents being debriefed as we speak. What do you expect me to tell them?"

"The hell should I care?" Alfred snapped. "I outrank you and I am not losing that asset! She's given us intel that they have several more bombs and targets, we need to know where they're being kept and when they plan to attack and she is the only one who might be able to get that information for us! I don't care what you tell them, tell them she died, or escaped, tell them _anything_. Just let her go."

The agent spluttered for a few moments before ducking his head, lowering his eyes. "I'll do that immediately, sir. What about the man we brought in with her?"

Alfred had forgotten about him. "Did he give you anything valuable?"

"No," the agent replied curtly. "Nothing yet."

"Keep him then." Maybe he could help them find Danica again.

The agent nodded.

"Good, I have to liaise with Mr Kirkland. Contact me as soon as it's done. And if it's not I'll make you sorry you ever joined MI-whatever, understand?"

"Yes sir."

There was a car waiting for him outside the building, the driver greeted him cordially and pulled away from the curb. Alfred leant his head against the window and closed his eyes.

He'd just released the murderer of millions of people with the full knowledge that she would destroy millions of others. _What the fuck had he done_? He wondered if he should tell the driver to turn around, tell the agents he'd been wrong. But if he did what would happen to Russia?

He could still hear Russia's screams pounding in his head.

He _couldn't_ let her do that.

He couldn't.

As soon as the car pulled up to the hospital Alfred sprung out and thundered up to Russia's room. Ukriane was leant against the closed door, hands pressed against her chest, breathing heavily.

"Is he okay?"

She jumped and turned to him, "Alfred!" she said with a sigh of relief. "Da, he is fine. There were some fires at the aid shelters, who would do that, Alfred? Who would burn _aid stations_?"

Alfred felt sick. "Did anyone die?"

She nodded, "A few more. This is so awful..."

Alfred opened his mouth to comfort her, to ask if he could see Russia because he _needed_ to just to be sure and he wasn't sure _why_ , but before he could Arthur rounded the corner. "Alfred!" he growled, "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I didn't-" he began but when Alfred turned to him his mind went blank. _I didn't have a choice,_ he wanted to say. _I didn't know what to do_ , he wanted to say. _I just wanted Russia to be okay._ But the words sputtered and died in his throat. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Ukraine was staring at them. Arthur was studying him, his intense green eyes sweeping over every inch of Alfred's face. Alfred looked away.

"We should take this upstairs," Arthur said, turning swiftly and striding back down the corridor. With an apologetic glance to Ukraine Alfred hurried after him, up to their improvised meeting room.

* * *

"Why the hell did you let her go?" Arthur growled.

Alfred felt like a naughty child again, being scolded for teasing someone else. For wrecking Arthur's fancy clothes. "I _had_ to." he spat, defiantly.

" _Why_?"

"Because she was hurting Russia! She said – she said she'd keep doing it and you'd have done the same. If it was me or Francis or Mattie. You'd have done the same."

Arthur looked taken aback. "That's different." he said stiffly. "We're a family. He's a big boy, Alfred, he can cope."

"He shouldn't have to!" Alfred growled.

"She will kill _millions,_ Alfred. _Millions._ We could have stopped her!"

Alfred flinched.

"She was torturing him, Arthur." He said softly. "She was torturing him and I could hear it. I just wanted to make her stop." He'd already gone over this with Arthur, he'd told Arthur about the earpiece, the microphone planted in Russia's room.

Something in Arthur's gaze softened. "She set the fires? How?"

"She had another earring. It was like a signalling device or something. Your agents should have taken them off her."

Arthur sighed, massaging his forehead. "Please tell me you at least got something useful out of her. Other than her intent to bomb more people."

"She's a nation, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened, " _What?_ "

"I don't know which one. She sounded like Russia and Ukraine. She said she used to be a nation, anyway. She felt like one."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Alfred, what did she look like?"

Alfred frowned; surely Arthur had seen the files? "I don't know – red hair, dark eyes. Normal. Why? Do you know who she is?"

"No. If she sounded like Russia she may have been Czechoslovakia but as far as I know he was a man. He died in 1993 though." he tapped the table in front of him thoughtfully. "I wonder though..."

"Wonder what?" Alfred asked, suspiciously.

Arthur stood up, "We need to speak to Ukraine."


	14. Chapter 14

"I-I do not understand," Ukraine murmured, running her fingers across the photo. "She did this to Ivan?"

"We believe so," Arthur said grimly. Alfred watched as Ukraine pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, sniffing loudly. One of Arthur's agents had dropped off the file on her along with the news that she'd vanished. The man that had been captured with her hadn't given anything up yet but apparently the FSB were confident they could break him and Alfred was inclined to believe them.

Alfred tapped the photo, jerking Ukraine out of her thoughts. "Do you recognise her?"

Ukraine nodded shakily, "But I do not... I thought... I believed she was dead. How could she...?"

"Who is she?"

"She...She manifested when Comrade Stalin became Premier. None of us really understood because we thought that Ivan... She called herself the Soviet Union."

Alfred frowned, "But I thought Russia was the Soviet Union too." He said just as Arthur growled, "Why weren't we informed of this?"

With a frightened sob Ukraine hid her face in her hands, "I am sorry, England! I know we should have but-but Comrade Stalin..."

Alfred leant forward immediately and pressed a gentling hand on her shoulder, "It's okay, we're not mad," he said soothingly, shooting Arthur a dark look. "Just tell us what you know."

Ukraine peeped out from beneath her hands and nodded sheepishly, "S-Sorry. I just..." She took a steadying breath. "She was... _unusual._ Unstable, worse even than my brother at his lowest... She was made up of so many countries and we had never met someone like her. She could... She was part of _all_ of our countries and it was so _wrong._ We could feel her, like we could feel our own people. Ivan was terrified of her, Comrade Stalin liked her much more than he liked Ivan, you see. He was worried that Stalin would replace him. She...she attacked Raivis one day, nearly killed him. She did some other things... Ivan took her away one day said Stalin wanted to see her. And we just stopped feeling her after a while." She dropped her hands completely from her face. "She was insane."

"Yes, I bet she was," Arthur murmured. Alfred watched him closely, the way his fists clenched and unclenched, the way his teeth ground; there was definitely something Arthur knew that he wasn't sharing.

"Can I...May I go now?" Ukraine asked quietly, "My brother..."

"Of course you can," Alfred nodded, smiling kindly at her. "Let me know if anything changes with him." Ukraine nodded, smiling nervously and hurried clumsily out of the room. As soon as she was gone Alfred turned to Arthur, "What the hell is going on?"

Arthur shook his head, rubbing absently at his chest, "I wish I knew." He sighed.

"I mean, how can she be the Soviet Union? How does that even work?"

"I don't _know,_ " Arthur repeated, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I suppose it makes sense... The Soviet Union was technically a Nation and her insanity wouldn't surprise me...But I don't understand how she survived."

Alfred shook his head, "But why is Russia still here if she existed? And why is she grown up? Shouldn't she be a kid?"

"It's _complicated,_ Alfred," Arthur said with the air of an exasperated parent. "I don't think any of us can explain our existence. I mean can you remember being born? I certainly can't. And none of us know why Gilbert's still here, Prussia is long gone. What I don't understand is why we weren't informed of her existence."

"Like Ukraine said, it was because of Stalin." Alfred replied bluntly. "You're still not telling me everything."

Arthur glared at him, "I told you twice, Alfred, I don't _know_ anything."

Alfred squared his shoulders, "So tell me what you _do_ know, then."

Again Arthur sighed, sitting back in his chair. "It makes sense that she's the Soviet Union, she's targeting Russia because he's still alive. Ukraine said she was part of all their countries, that's enough to drive anyone nuts, especially with the amount of people who protested against the Soviet Union. Ukraine also said that she was taken by Stalin, maybe he helped her... I don't know. I don't _know._ All we do know is that she's pissed and that she has nuclear weapons at her disposal. We need to call a meeting," he stood up and as he did so he winced.

Alfred frowned, "You okay?"

Arthur stretched, "I'm fine, just stiff from sitting around all day. Help me get everyone together, everyone here that is."

Alfred wasn't entirely convinced but he nodded all the same and hurried out in to the corridor.

* * *

"We take her out," Belarus said simply, eyes icy and hard.

They had all gathered in their meeting room, Arthur had filled them in in a grim voice. It had been obvious that Toris and Belarus had recognised Danica immediately by the way Toris shuddered and Belarus' lips thinned. Germany had asked them a few questions before sighing and saying, "So what are we to do about her?" Alfred was glad none of them seemed overly annoyed at him for letting her go (God knows he felt guilty enough about it) Everyone had been too busy arguing about what to do to stop her until Belarus had stood up and said her piece. In the days since the attack on Russia Nations had been coming and going, offering aid, keeping up to date; Germany, Lithuania, China and France had stayed at the hospital though.

"We have to find her first though, non?" Francis said. "How do we do that?"

"We've got agents investigating every known contact and address connected to the group she was found with but honestly, I don't see her going back to them," Arthur muttered.

Germany nodded, "Neither do I."

"Can we actually kill her though?" Yao asked, "I mean she is a nation without a country and to kill a nation you must destroy their country, aru."

"He has a point," Toris said, glancing fearfully at Belarus.

Belarus slammed her hands down on the table, "We _will_ find her and _I_ shall kill her. We all have secret services, we all have armies-"

"Some of us have other threats to monitor," China interjected. "We cannot just drop everything to look for her. She said she would not attack for a while, yes?"

With a surge of a anger Alfred stood up, 'She has _nuclear weapons,_ China and god knows what else! She is a global threat and she could probably strike any minute!"

"We wouldn't have to worry about that if it weren't for _you,_ Amerika," Belarus sneered.

Alfred glared at her but Germany spoke up before he had a chance to, "America let her go because she was torturing your brother, Belarus. You would have done the same." He said curtly.

Belarus gritted her teeth but held her tongue.

"Belarus is right, aru. Alfred could have dealt with her in other ways. He should be responsible for finding her again."

"What did you want me to do, Yao?" Alfred snarled, "Kill her? She was threatening Russia. She was threatening my family! You would have done the same!"

"I would not have let her go unless I knew I could track her! You did not think!"

"What did you want him to do?" Toris snapped hotly and quite unexpectedly. "Kill her?"

"Would have been more useful," Belarus muttered.

Trying desperately to keep his temper in check Alfred took a deep breath, "She told me if she was killed the rest of her group were going to bomb me or my family and maybe you could that chance but I couldn't."

China muttered something that didn't sound too friendly, "You never think, America!"

"What would you have done!?" Alfred roared just as Germany stood and barked, "It doesn't matter what has already happened! We need to concentrate on finding her before she attacks someone else!"

"America should be bear the most of the cost," China said huffily.

"Nyet," snapped Belarus, "He is incompetent, if he is put in charge we will all be destroyed by her."

_Incompetent?_ Alfred saw red. The meeting descended into a cacophony of raised voices and growled remarks and at some point Alfred found himself yanking China up by his ridiculously large shirt, fist raised.

" _Enough!"_ Francis' voice cut through the raised voices. "Angleterre, what is wrong, mon ami?" He was knelt beside Arthur's chair, Alfred let go off China's shirt. Arthur's eyes were squeezed shut, his face pale, one of his hands was pressed hard against his chest. "Arthur!" Alfred cried.

"Something...Something's wrong..." Arthur hissed, clawing at his chest.

* * *

Alfred massaged his temples, sighing heavily. On the bed Russia shifted slightly, lips still ghosting over names. "We coulda used you in the meeting today, buddy," Alfred said quietly reaching over to brush a few stray looks of pale hair off Russia's forehead. "China went apeshit and Toris actually spoke up. It was so crazy. Although if you weren't here we wouldn't need to be having this meeting..."

His rambling was interrupted by a hasty knock on the door, Francis leant in. "Bonjour, Alfred." He said in a hushed tone, Alfred searched the Frenchman's face for any hint of worry but when he found none he relaxed.

"How's Arthur?" He asked immediately.

"He is fine, mon ami. There was a bomb on a tube train, gas. Only a few people died and only one of the bombs went off. It could have been a lot worse but Arthur's little Spooks managed to evacuate the stations in time."

Alfred's heart sank, "Danica?"

Francis smiled kindly, "We do not know, mon cheri. Perhaps. But do not worry Alfred, Arthur is fine. He is well protected."

"We thought Russia was well protected too." Alfred murmured.

"Oh, Alfred," Francis sighed, clasping his shoulder. "It was not your fault, you know this? Oui?"

Alfred closed his eyes. It _felt_ it was his fault. "If I hadn't let her go... " he began but Francis cut him off.

"If you had not released her our Arthur may be in the same state as our Russie."

" _Or_ she would have been killed by pissed off FSB agents and we'd all be happy," Alfred muttered miserably.

Francis chuckled softly, rearranging Russia's blankets, "And if Hitler had been killed in World War One our lives would be very different today but do you think Germany spends his days pondering the could-have-beens? Do you think Arthur spends his days wondering whether things would be different if you had not won independence?"

Alfred sighed, he knew they did on occasion, it was hard not to dwell on the past, but Francis was right. "By letting her go I've put everyone in danger though, I have to make this right, Francis..."

Francis nodded. "You will, Alfred, but first I think it is time you rested, non? You have had a hard couple of days. I can watch Russia until Ukraine gets back and Arthur is safe, you needn't worry."

"I'm not tired," Alfred murmured, swallowing a yawn.

Francis grinned, "You are not convincing anyone, mon cheri. Now if you don't retire for some rest within the next few minutes I will be forced to take you to bed myself." He said, waggling his eyebrows obscenely.

Despite himself Alfred smiled, "Alright, alright. I'll go."

He stood and Francis nodded, evidently pleased with himself. "Bonne nuit, Alfred." He said softly, winding his fingers through Russia's hair.

In hindsight maybe leaving Russia with Francis wasn't the brightest idea.


	15. Chapter 15

"I don't understand," Alfred growled. "You want me to stay _here_?"

Germany didn't look up from the map he had spread out on the desk - with Arthur still recuperating he'd taken over as leader, "Ja," he said, pouring over the map. "You're too close to this. You could make a decision that would compromise the our mission."

Their combined network of spies had come through, they'd found Danica, or at least there'd been a sighting of her in Munich. They were planning on moving in on her, keeping it low key, Germany had plain clothes soldiers stationed around the building and they were going to fly in, under the radar of course. Nations only. Nations dealt with nations, that's the way it had always been.

Alfred ground his teeth, "That's _bullshit!_ You're letting Belarus go!"

Germany glanced up at him, "If I could stop Belarus going I would."

"So why can't I go!?"

Germany sighed, knitting his fingers together and steepling them under his chin. "America, please don't fight me on this."

"You're not in charge of me!" Alfred snapped, for gods sake! He was so sick of everyone treating him like a kid. "Belarus is Russia's _sister,_ she's far more emotionally compromised than I am!"

"That's not the problem," Germany said, still frustratingly calm.

"Then what is?" What did Belarus have that he didn't? What could she do that he couldn't? America was _far_ more powerful than her little country!

"The problem, America, is that I can trust Belarus to keep a cool head. You however - "

Alfred cut him off, "Oh for Christ's sake! I said I was sorry for letting her go! She was _torturing_ him!"

Germany shook his head, "No one begrudges you for that, America. It's just that when push comes to shove I don't know if I can trust you to make the right call." He said carefully.

Alfred's jaw dropped, "You think I'll mess it up. You think I'll let her escape again, don't you! I'm a better soldier than you! Don't forget we came out on top of you _twice._ "

Germany bristled, " _America_ ," he said shortly, "You know I don't mean it like that. All I'm saying is that you have a tendency to become a little overemotional and this woman is a very dangerous individual. We can't risk losing her again. You're close to Russia and to Britain and you are the one she's made the most direct threat to, I can't have you losing it out there! _Mein Gott_ , you are as infuriating as Italy."

Alfred glared at him, "I'll come if I want."

Germany met his eyes coolly, "Nein. You won't." He sighed, "America, stay here. Look after Russia and Britain, we'll capture her. Bring her back. Besides, this may be a trick, she may be attempting to lure us away so she can get here."

He knew what Germany was doing, trying to validate him, giving him something to do, but it just felt like he was being sat at the kiddies table while the adults went off to fight. But it was Germany's country and even though he didn't think Germany would actually do anything to him if he came along without permission he wasn't sure he should risk it. He slammed his hand on to the table and stormed out, stomping through the corridors until he reached Arthur's room.

"I _hate_ Germany!" He snarled, slamming the door behind him.

Arthur, pale against the white sheets, rolled his eyes and Francis, perched by Arthur's bed shot him an amused look. "What now, Alfred?" Arthur asked.

"He won't let me go with them after Danica! You're allowed to go, right Francis?"

Francis nodded, still smirking slightly, "Oui, I am."

"So why won't he let _me_ go?" Alfred muttered, dropping in to the unoccupied chair beside Francis.

Francis chuckled, reaching across to ruffle Alfred's hair, "Because you are so high strung, mon ami. It's not a bad thing, Alfred, it just does not suit stealth missions well."

Alfred batted him away.

"He's right, Alfred," Arthur rasped. "You'll be better off here."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Alfred grumbled. "I can control myself."

Arthur snorted and Alfred glared at him, turning to see if Francis agreed. Francis looked away, cheeks colouring a little. "Oh, for gods sake! You don't believe me, do you?" He stood up, trying to pretend he wasn't shaking with rage. "Screw you dudes!"

"Oh, come now, Amerique!" Francis called after him as he stomped out of the room.

* * *

When the whir of helicopters and jet engines started up Alfred was brooding in Russia's room, slumped over in the chair, Ukraine was seeing Belarus off and then she'd been ordered to sleep, everyone but him and her were going on the mission. "And there they go," he mumbled to the prone figure on the bed. "Off to fight and I'm sat here baby sitting _you."_

Almost immediately a wave of guilt crashed over him and he sat up straighter, biting his lip, "Sorry, that was out of line." He touched Russia's hand gently. He'd been mostly unbandaged and the pale skin that had been exposed was covered in pink burn scars, Alfred wondered whether they'd ever fade. Kiku still had his, two huge scars on his back. "You better wake up soon, buddy. Your people need you."

He'd visited one of the camps earlier that week, it was not exactly what he'd hoped for them. It was winter, the hastily constructed buildings and tents offered little protection from the freezing temperatures. There were soldiers everywhere, his, what was left of Ivan's, Arthur's, Ukraine's, Francis', and loads more; there were medics, but not enough supplies, some of the people he passed didn't even have shoes. During the Great Depression when Alfred felt people starve not because there wasn't enough food, but because there wasn't any profit in selling it, Alfred had secretly thought he'd never bounce back but he had, just like everyone else had. Hell, Kiku had bounced back. But this? This was only one refugee camp for people from St Petersburg. There were almost a hundred others like this.

Seeing the camps made it real. Seeing the boards put up near the entrances with posters begging for information on family members beside the lists of people who had already been found, alive or dead. Those were the names that fell from Russia's lips. They were real people with families, lives, friends. Now they were just names.

How the hell was Russia meant to come back from this?

Russia stirred a little, mumbled something thickly in his sleep.

It had been almost two hours since the others had left. Ukraine had popped back in briefly but she had been dead on her feet so Alfred had sent her off to bed.

Alfred leant forwards, "Ivan?"

Russia groaned.

Alfred's phone started buzzing in his pocket.

"A-Alfred?"


End file.
